Lost
by Jabbertalky
Summary: Slash, EC/HP: After the last battle, Harry is left with no memory of his life. To protect him from the magical world, he is sent to Forks. Little does anyone know how Edward Cullen will take his arrival. But where does Snape fit into this?
1. Prologue: Running Blind

_**Lost**_

Disclaimer: We claim no rights to the characters of _Harry Potter _or the _Twilight _series. No profit is being made from the circulation of this fictional work and characters still belong to their respective writers.

Warnings: AU, _Harry Potter/Twilight _Crossover, violence, adult situations, M/M Slash.

Pairing: Edward Cullen/Harry Potter

Summary: After defeating Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter is left with no recollection of his accomplishments and life—and magic. In hopes of protecting him from the magical world, Professor McGonagall sends him to a remote location, Forks, Washington. Little does anyone know how Edward Cullen will take Harry's arrival. The pair are instantly drawn to each other, but Harry's new simple life can't last. The magical world won't wait for him for long, but where does his old professor, Severus Snape, fit into all of this?

**Prologue: Running Blind**

_Harry, what are you doing?_

His legs were too tired to keep moving, but he knew if he stopped running he was resigned to death. It was better to try, to keep putting one foot in front of the other. He couldn't imagine how things had turned out like this. His memories, those that had come back, were a blur, completely unhelpful. How could he defend himself when he couldn't remember his greatest power?

Harry was a disappointment. He was weak. Edward and Jacob and the other Cullens both would suffer for his shortcomings now. All he could do was run through the trees. His glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them back up. He couldn't see very well in the forest even with them. The underbrush was thick, a testament to the heavy rain in this region of the world, and the trees grew in every direction, not simply straight towards the sky, but leaning over each other, reaching everywhere.

Perhaps it wasn't worth running anymore. He could hear Severus' voice in his head, a distant memory he couldn't quite connect to his world.

_Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily—weak people, in other words—they stand no chance against his powers!_

Who had he been and who had he fought in the past? His life in Forks was proof that whatever he had done before, he had never been strong enough to fight for anything.

He hit the break in the trees and came to the clearing where he and Edward had laid side by side in the grass, their gazes uncomplicated, the outside world forgotten. It was here that Harry could forget about his doubts and his questions about the life he couldn't remember in England, where Edward could be a boy and not a demon trapped forever at seventeen. His tired legs couldn't carry him any further and he collapsed onto his knees. How fitting that his body would lead him here, of all places, to die.

It was too dark in the meadow for him to see, but Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. They were out there, lurking beyond the treeline, playing with him. A trail of blood ran down his cheek and he tried to wipe it away with the back of his hand but it was too thick and full of life. It smeared across his pale skin. He had failed them, his old friends back at home and his new friends here in Forks. He had brought them nothing but trouble.

But another voice navigated through the haze of his memories and made itself know. He didn't know if he could heed it, but it made him look up as they approached and face them with eyes open.

_We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Harry, but battle on._


	2. Chapter 1: Alone in the Darkness

Disclaimer: We claim no rights to the characters of _Harry Potter _or the _Twilight _series. No profit is being made from the circulation of this fictional work and characters still belong to their respective writers.

Warnings: AU, _Harry Potter/Twilight _Crossover, violence, adult situations, M/M Slash.

Notes: This fic is brought to you by the creative team of Madame Wang and Ms. Pacman. We'd like to thank you all for your reviews and favorites and story subscriptions thus far! Extended message from the writers at the end of this chapter! On with the story!

**Chapter 1: Alone in the Darkness**

He woke to a searing pain in his head, the kind of ache that threatened to eat away at his brain. His body jerked upright, coming awake with a start, as if he had been doing something extremely important before he entered the land of slumber. His vision swam hazily. He was nestled into a nest of blankets, a soft bed that tempted him to close his eyes once again, but he resisted the pull of sleep. There was something very wrong.

He couldn't think of who he was or how he had ended up here. His head was beginning to give him real trouble and he fumbled about, tossing his legs over the side of the bed with some effort. It made his breath catch in his throat and he steadied himself for a moment before proceeding again. His hand caught hold of the bedside table and bumped into a cold glass object. When his fingers curled around it, he realized they were eyeglasses, and his, he deduced, as they were beside his bed. He lifted them to his face and was relieved to find that some of the problem with his vision was cleared up. If only the room would stop spinning now.

The room was small and sterile looking, white walls glaring down at him. There was a curtain that could be pulled around his bed, and another that could be pulled around the other bed in the room. In it, another man slumbered, but he couldn't say he recognized him.

With a bit more effort, he was able to stand. A cool breezy feeling caressed his back and he felt around with one hand, glancing down. He was wearing a hospital gown, and the word leapt up in his mind. He was in a hospital, being cared for, injured. But why? His brain scrambled for some purchase on reality, but he only knew what he saw. He looked around wildly, the pain in his head momentarily forgotten. There was no one to ask, besides the man who slept in the bed beside him, who looked nearly dead himself. He held the back of his gown shut as he shuffled to the foot of the bed. Picking up the clip board secured to it, he read:

_Harry Potter. Head injury._

Well, that would certainly explain his lack of memory. He put it down as his stomach rolled, not wanting to read anymore. At least he remembered how to read. He started for the door, glancing back at his bed but still pressing forward. Fear nagged at him. He didn't feel safe here. There was something that unsettled him, but he couldn't place where the feeling came from.

The hallway was dimly lit and there were no people in the immediate vicinity, save for the nursing station at the far end. They seem engrossed in their work and he was glad for it. He slipped out, making sure that his grip on his hospital gown was secure, and headed around the corner.

He tried once again to summon anything from the far reaches of his mind to tell him why he felt like running a thousand miles away, but his brain couldn't summon any clues. He lifted a hand to rub at his aching forehead and frowned as he felt the rough skin there. His chart had said head injury, but this felt old, like a scar, under his touch.

Ahead of him he caught sight of a bathroom sign and ducked inside before he ran into anyone. The tile floor was colder than linoleum under his bare feet. Quickly, he walked up to the mirror to inspect himself.

The scar was partially hidden by his scruffy black hair, but he lifted it up to get a good look at the mark. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt that ran down his forehead, quite well defined and odd. How did he get such a prominent scar? He lowered his hand and leaned forward, bracing himself against the sink with both hands, allowing his eyes to fall shut.

Whoever he was, he decided his life was dangerous. There was no other explanation for the indescribable anxiety that tugged at him. He had no idea what he was afraid of, only that he was afraid. The feeling it brought up in the pit of his stomach was positively uncomfortable. He wanted to escape this crazy confusion, if he could even call it confusion. He felt like it deserved a stronger name but he was having trouble thinking of the right one. He felt lost, and there was no other way to truly articulate it.

He reached down and turned on the sink, twisting the cold water handle. Hopefully relieving some of the heat that was rising in his face would make it easier to think. He knew he had to get out of this hospital, but with no idea who he was, where would he go? What would he do? He didn't even have proper clothing. No one had seemed to hurt him, making him entertain the thought for a moment that perhaps his fear was unreasonable and unfounded. Slipping off his glasses and setting them down on the side of the sink, he cupped his hands under the jet of water and collected it, splashing it over his face.

"Harry Potter," he said aloud. That was the name on the chart and it did feel natural sliding off his tongue. He could believe that it was his name. "But who are you?"

He picked up his glasses gingerly, trying not to get them too wet, and walked over toward the door to the paper towel dispenser. Just as he pulled the handle down to dispense a towel, the cover popped open, making him jump in surprise. The roll of paper towels sprung out into his arms, bouncing up once and then twice before he caught hold of it. It was quite perfect, something that didn't matter at all that had made him jump like a frightened kitten. He was certainly a mess.

Letting out another sigh, he tore off a length of paper towel and dried his face, replacing his glasses. Just as he was drying his hands, the door to the bathroom swung open.

"Harry? Are you in here?"

He threw the roll of paper towels at the red-haired boy in the doorway, surprised again, and jumped back a step. It hit him squarely in the chest and he gaped.

"What's your problem?" he asked Harry.

Harry only wished he could remember his problem.

"Who are you?"

The red-haired boy frowned and stepped into the room. It made him feel uncomfortable and he snuck a hand behind his back to grab the back of his hospital gown.

"What are you on about?"

"I don't know who you are," he said, gritting his teeth. This boy obviously knew him, but he couldn't put a name to his face. Or anything else for that matter.

Slowly, the red-haired boy's expression began to change from confusion to disappointment to real hurt. Harry felt sorry for him, but he didn't know how to fix it.

"Come on then, I won't do anything to hurt you, but half the nurses on this floor are looking for you," the red-haired boy said. "It's back to bed, you had quite the time, shouldn't be out of bed just yet."

He reached out a hand to Harry tentatively. Harry, for his part, tried not to regard it with suspicion, but he couldn't help it. He saw that it hurt the other boy's feelings by the ever-changing expression on his face and he stepped forward, letting him put that hand on his shoulder.

"There, see, not so bad," he commented.

"Right," Harry said.

As they left the bathroom, Harry caught sight of a pair of nurses waiting a few steps away. They closed in on the pair and he tensed, not certain why he was so edgy when it came to other people. If the red-haired boy gave any noticed, he didn't give any indication.

"Mr. Potter, you really shouldn't be out of bed!" the first one scolded. She was young, her blonde hair pulled up into a bun that sat just below the white hat on her head. She put a hand on his other shoulder and he had to force himself to keep walking. The situation was becoming increasingly more nerve racking and he wished they would all stop fussing over him. His head hurt, but he was walking. He really wanted some logical explanation, some bit of information that would make all of this make sense.

"Oh there he is!"

At the sound of the excited voice, he finally balked. There was no way he could handle all this attention, not when he didn't know who was his friend and who was his enemy. The girl and the old woman standing outside his hospital room where too much. He spun quickly, surprising the two people who held onto him and twisting free of their hands. The sudden movement made his head pound but he tried to ignore it.

_I've had worse._

But he didn't know where the thought came from, for he couldn't remember what that worse might be.

Harry tried to run, his hand still firmly clenched around the back of his hospital gown, but the effort was too much for him. The nurses quickly recaptured him after only a few steps and his brain screamed at his body for being so weak.

"He didn't recognize me, Professor, not at all," the red-haired boy was saying.

"Oh my," said the old woman. Harry struggled weakly, but the nurses held firm.

"A wheelchair, please, Magda," the older one said. She grabbed hold of both his arms at the bicep and clamped down, her grip so strong she was a virtual gorilla. In a matter of seconds, he was plopped down in a cold leather chair.

"This won't hurt a bit, young man," a new voice said.

Harry looked up as a doctor prepared a needle. The man was dressed a bit oddly, but everything about him suggested he was a physician. He knew they were going to sedate him. Part of his brain told him to fight again, it was too dangerous to sleep, but the other part had given up. Whether he fought or not, he was outnumbered and wouldn't get very far in his present condition. It was better to bide his time.

The needle sank into his arm and he sagged in the chair of his own accord, willing the relief from the pain in his head to wash through him with the sedative. It was fast-acting. Soon his eyelids began to droop.

_I don't know who I am._

_Who is Harry Potter?_

* * *

"Go on, go on," she shooed Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger down the hall. "There's nothing to be done while he's sleeping, now, go on and get something to eat. I know you haven't in hours."

"Yes, Professor," was the dejected reply.

She hated that they sounded so wounded. A few minutes prior, they had been excited to find that Harry had wandered off, not because he was missing though, but because he had woken up. It had been a temporary coma, the healers said. They found no physical cause, attributing it to such profound mental stress. It sounded accurate. With everything Harry Potter had done, he had quite literally saved the world. But the boy who had woken up might have looked and sounded like Harry Potter, Harry Potter was not at home at the moment.

Professor McGonagall scowled and slipped into the hospital room. The pair of nurses glanced up at her as she entered and nodded, going back to their work. The healer had thought it best to use soft restraints on Mr. Potter, lest he wake up again and go wandering the hallways. It would probably scare him when he did wake, but he would be much safer.

After all he had been through, his life should have come back into order and peacefulness, but it seemed fate wasn't so kind. Professor McGonagall walked around his bed as the nurses left, satisfied that he wouldn't escape again. In sleep, he did look the part of the calm hero, his destiny fulfilled and his future bright and uncomplicated. She knew it was not the case.

He couldn't remember all the good he had done in his short life.

She pulled the curtain around his bed, offering him some privacy while he slumbered. And while she spoke to the occupant of the other bed.

"I trust you overheard the tussle in the hallway, Severus," Professor McGonagall said, her voice low. She sat in the chair beside the second bed. The black-haired man in it stirred, his eyes opening into slits. He could have pretended all he wanted with most other people, but Minerva knew very well that he wasn't asleep.

"Perhaps it is shock and it will all return in due time," Professor Snape said, his voice raspy. He was repeating what the healer had told them right outside the door, once Harry's eyes had dropped shut and his breathing began to even out.

"Time? He doesn't have time, not when he's the hero everyone is looking to celebrate," she said. "They all want to put him on parade and hear him tell how he vanquished the Dark Lord, but he doesn't remember doing any of that. I'm afraid the _shock _of it all will be detrimental to his health. Mr. Weasley said when he found him that Mr. Potter was quite jumpy. He threw a roll of towels at him!"

The idea made Severus Snape smile slightly to himself as he pictured it and thought. If Potter didn't remember a thing, who he was, what he was, perhaps he would not be quite so annoying. However, more importantly, he would be in danger, and not only in the way Minerva was stressing. The Dark Lord was slain but his followers were not all so inclined to allow that to put a stop to their devious activities. They would surely see how weak a wizard with no idea he was a wizard could be. Potter would very much be a sitting duck for anyone with a mind for revenge, more so than Severus was as he was recovering.

He blinked, realization dawning on him, and looked up at McGonagall, fretful teacher indeed.

"You want me to take the boy with me," he said sourly. "The answer is no. I won't do it, not now, not ever."

"Oh Severus, be reasonable," Minerva said. "When his memory comes back, he will come home."

"_If_ it comes back."

"Alright, if it comes back," she corrected grudgingly. "If not, he will be an adult soon enough. You need only watch over him until he recovers or grows out of it mattering. You're going away in any case, who better than you?"

"Someone who doesn't loathe the boy, perhaps?" Snape sneered.

"You don't _loathe _him," Minerva said. "For goodness' sake, do it for-"

"Don't say it," he warned, but he knew he had lost. If he didn't agree, she would say his name. If he did agree, she didn't need to say it.

"I don't want to take any chances," Professor McGonagall said. "He needs the same things you are leaving to find, rest, relaxation, privacy. You've told me you're leaving for some place 'low-key,' you have some place in mind, I assume. To grant you protection from old acquaintances who might not find your actions favorable. You'll take Potter with you."

It was no longer a question and he was too tired to argue. She watched as he shifted his elbows under him, trying to pull himself up into a sitting position. It was difficult, but his injury had been treated expertly with magic and his strength was returning quickly. He reached over to the bedside table near his head and into the drawer. It appeared empty as he opened it, but Professor McGonagall knew better. His hand slid inside and it disappeared from her vision.

"You know they told you not to exert yourself," she said, clucking her tongue in disapproval.

"A small glamour can hardly be called exerting myself," he scoffed. The spell had taken quite a bit of energy to set, while his nurses weren't looking, and it had easily sent him back to sleep after finishing it, but he wasn't about to cop up to that little tidbit. When his contact had brought him this item, he wanted to give it some semblance of protection. Only a few people knew of his continued existence, after all.

His hand came out of the drawer with a thick envelope. He let his head fall back onto his pillow and let out a sigh of relief. Though he didn't want to admit it either, there was still a ways to go as far as recovery went. Normally it would have frustrated him, but he was reasonably distracted by the current problem at hand. He opened the envelope and pulled out a plane ticket.

"You may exchange this for two tickets for the both of us," he said, letting annoyance to be heard in his voice.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow as she took it from him. "How kind of you to give up your first class seat, Earnest Nichols."

"If I was traveling as a muggle, I would have preferred to travel in style," he retorted.

"Of course," she said. "I will make the necessary arrangements. You may go back to your rest."

Note from the desk of Madame Wang: Ms. Pacman said to me the other day, "You know, I hate when authors "withhold" chapters for reviews, there has to be a better way to encourage readers to review without holding them for ransom. She thought on the idea for a bit and came up with this suggestion. "Say, why don't we offer the first twenty or so reviewers a preview of our next chapter, around 300 words of advanced viewing fun!" I said that perhaps twenty was a bit high, after all, who knows what the reception of our fic will be, so in testing the waters, this time, for the first **10 **reviewers, we'll send you a preview of chapter two before it's published to this website. So review, folks, and remember to leave contact information, eg, signed review or email address, so we can send it to you!

Until next time!

-Madame Wang


	3. Chapter 2: The Disease is Gloom

Disclaimer: We claim no rights to the characters of _Harry Potter _or the _Twilight _series. No profit is being made from the circulation of this fictional work and characters still belong to their respective creators.

Warnings: AU, _Harry Potter/Twilight _Crossover, violence, adult situations, M/M Slash.

Notes: Sincerest apologies for not updating this in a timely manner. Life has a way of catching up with you in the worst way sometimes. We hope you enjoy this chapter and will be kind enough to leave us a review!

**Chapter 2: The Disease is Gloom**

Forks, Washington, USA.

He supposed that it was good that he didn't have much of a memory of any other place to compare it to, for if he did, he imagined that he would feel even more disappointed. He didn't know if he could survive that.

His uncle didn't quite try to butter him up to it, thankfully. He didn't know if he could have survived that either. The man with a crooked nose and stiff, immaculate posture didn't seem the loving uncle that Miss Smith had claimed he was when Harry awoke for the second time in the hospital. She had tried to insist that his name was Earnest, but in the back of Harry's mind he had sworn to himself that it was not. It didn't seem to suit him, and he said as much to her.

His uncle, who had been burrowed deep into the blankets of his bed beside Harry's, had chosen that moment to sit up and command him to not contradict a lady. Later, he had spoken to him about it.

"You may not remember me, boy, but I am your uncle," he had said. "And there has been what they will describe to you as an accident. For now, we must trust Miss Smith to take care of us and our interests. So call me Earnest, until you remember a more accurate name for me."

Harry had really wanted to trust him. The whole part where his brain wasn't sure who was friend and who was foe was draining a good deal of his energy. However, there was a strange coldness in the man's voice, not at all like the doctors and nurses and Miss Smith when they talked to him. They sounded as though they were speaking to a child they loved very much when they addressed him. He was certainly not a child, of that Harry was sure, but he liked hearing them speak to him with warmth and comfort, even if he didn't quite believe all of it.

But that was all beside the point as he stepped from the large green SUV and stood peering through the never-ending forest that seemed to make up the state of Washington. Though he slept through much of the flight, the captain's announcement that they were beginning their decent had roused him. There wasn't much to see from the airplane's windows at first, just thick gray clouds below them, but as they broke through, they came in sight of the Cascade Mountain range. It was quite a vision, he had to say. His uncle had softened as Harry leaned up against his window, marveling at the snow capped mountain.

"That is what they call Mt. Rainier," Uncle Earnest-who-was-not-really-Earnest had said softly. "And on the other side, you can perhaps see St. Helens. Quite a beautiful region of the world, if I do say so."

Harry hadn't spoken much to him and he hadn't spoken much to Harry. The whimsical way his words hung in the air were quite strange though. Harry didn't know what to make of it, looking out the airplane window. He filed it away to think about later, like when he was sitting in a car, his chin rested on his hand, his forehead pressed against a cold window pane.

The highway had been an endless expanse of trees, interrupted on occasion by smaller roads that ran across it, for miles and miles. They had spent the night in Seattle, flying across the Puget Sound the next day and made the drive from the airport to the town of Forks itself. Rain drops fell on his head and permeated his hair as he stood still, regarding the aging wooden house before him. The building hadn't been painted in years, he decided, and it worried him, just a tad, that its roof appeared to be slightly sloping.

It was his new home, though any home would have been his new home. He wished that his uncle hadn't been a slightly intimidating, slightly unwelcoming, slightly loony botanist searching to catalog something or other about the species of plants in this gloomy region of the world. It really would have been much nicer to have an uncle who was a doctor or lawyer with a nice little apartment in the city, but he was lucky enough to have Uncle Earnest, who wasn't really Earnest. Fancy that.

"Come along," his uncle's voice interrupted his meandering thoughts.

Harry followed him up the steps to the door, hefting his suitcase at his side through the muddy yard. This was really quite a miserable place. The trip had sapped quite a bit of energy from him, so much that his light suitcase was beginning to feel rather weighted-down. He caught himself letting the corner sag into the mud and yanked it up again.

His uncle already had the key in hand and twisted it in the lock quickly, swinging open the front door. It let out a low creak and then glided silently back. The interior of the house looked aged but in better condition than the exterior had suggested. Harry sighed in relief and followed Uncle Earnest inside.

"Shoes!" his uncle commanded.

Harry glanced down, wincing at the mud caked around the edges of his battered sneakers. "Sorry," he said, hanging his head slightly. He nearly put down his suitcase but remembered that it had caught some of the mud too.

"You can clean it up later," his uncle said. His cold voice had softened slightly.

"I will, sir," Harry said.

"Your room will be upstairs, leave your shoes here," Uncle Earnest said, his voice once again chilly. Harry complied and padded to the stairs. He glanced once more at his uncle.

"Which one?"

"The master is, of course, my own, but any of the others," he said dismissively.

Harry thought it odd that he had his pick of rooms, but he couldn't quite place why. His uncle might have been cold and devoid of caring, but he didn't treat Harry unkindly. He mostly pretended that Harry didn't exist and wasn't accompanying him on his grand plant adventure. Harry had to admit, it didn't bother him too much.

While Ms. Smith put together their trip, doctors had asked him billions of questions. Did he remember anything about himself he could tell them? Did he recognize anyone? What had he last been doing? It was all quite frustrating, staring past them at the while walls, willing himself anywhere else besides a hospital with concerned people. He didn't remember who he was. It bothered him, but not to the degree it bother everyone else. Except for Uncle Earnest.

As he decided that he would really like the room with the bed instead of the room without one, he considered just how invisible his uncle seemed to be. Most people along the way from London to Seattle to Forks hadn't paid him much mind. It was as if he blended in completely to the crowds, someone utterly unremarkable.

This little town on the edge of nowhere was really quite perfect for someone who didn't want attention. Harry had been annoyed that his so-called caring relative would drag him some place so devoid of real civilization, but the more he considered it, the more of a blessing it seemed to be with someone so incredibly low-key, in a town so incredibly boring. His head hadn't been bombarded with questions and he discovered that it no longer ached. He had time and leisure to figure out just who he was.

He was careful not to let his muddy suitcase make too much of a mess as he set it down near the closet and walked over to the bed, collapsing onto it. The plane flights had been long and dull, but he hadn't thought much about his predicament since leaving the hospital. It was much easier to not worry so much about it. The doctors and Ms. Smith seemed confident that after some relaxation, he would hopefully recover his memories.

Uncle Earnest wasn't particularly interested, it seemed to Harry. He didn't even know how Uncle Earnest had come to be his guardian. What had happened to his parents? Did he have any friends? The red-headed boy had certainly seemed like his friend. He had spoken to him like a friend would and appeared very concerned, but Harry wasn't quite sure, didn't quite know if he could trust anyone. He didn't feel an inherent trust for anyone, and he didn't know how much that idea should bother him.

He didn't know much of anything.

That was, at least concerning his past. His current situation with his uncle was certainly rather straight-forward as far as he was concerned. Be a student. Live in a small town. He couldn't imagine that it would be exciting, after seeing Forks, but his room was comfortable, his head was clear and his stomach was empty. He decided to get back up and go in search of provisions in their new home.

The old house had a certain chill about it that places which were unlived in for a while seemed to acquire. Harry kept his socks and his coat on. They would certainly have to do something about the heat, or lack thereof, if he had anything to say about it.

The morning of his first day of school, Harry woke to the ever present sound of rain. His uncle hadn't seemed to mind the weather, aside from the mud it created, but Harry wondered if he would ever see the sun again. One of the few memories he had was a simple one, of sunshine warming his dark hair as he studied a book he couldn't quite picture in his memory. He asked his uncle, that morning at breakfast, if he really should go to school with his memory deficiency.

"I considered this carefully, I assure you, my dear nephew," Uncle Earnest said. "Your case of amnesia has thus far seemed to affect only your special memories, people, places, times. Your basic skills have remained intact. If there is a complication and you can't _handle _your education…"

"I'll let you know," Harry said, annoyed at the sudden jibe. He didn't say anything else until he ran out to catch the school bus, a half-hearted goodbye thrown in his uncle's direction.

On the bus, Harry found an empty seat and leaned up against the window. He was relatively sure that he would be fine with his subjects. It bothered him that his uncle had not offered him any reassurance, but Harry wondered if the man was capable of it. It made him feel particularly dejected, for it made him realize just how alone he was, a burden rather than family. The more he thought about it, the more he dreaded the time it would take to remember who he was. Or worse, not to remember and to start from absolute scratch. It was all too much.

Still, he had to consider that possibility. He felt like an adult, capable of taking care of himself. He didn't feel like a boy finishing high school. Didn't people nearing adulthood have to think about how they would really progress in the world? Would he go to university? Would he find a job? Did the person he used to be have a plan for all of these questions?

He decided to concentrate on school instead. The moment he walked in the door, he felt like people were talking about him, and, in fact, they were. After he checked in at the counselor's office, he followed his schedule to geometry. The moment he took his assigned seat and the teacher looked away, he was accosted by the girl next to him.

"You're that new plant guy, aren't you?" she asked.

Harry felt the urge to look around the room, to check to make sure he was the one she was talking to, but he knew it couldn't be anyone else. "Yeah, I guess," he replied.

"I'm Jessica, if you need anybody to show you around, that would totally be cool with me," she said, smiling at him and battling her eyelashes.

"I'm Harry," he said. He turned his head down to look at his desk. Forks was a small town. He wasn't sure how to deal with it.

"Hey, what's that on your forehead?" Jessica asked.

Harry had wondered the same thing, raising his hand to touch the lightning-shaped scar on his face. He had wanted to ask his uncle, but something inside him made him hesitant. It was something deeply personal and deeply dark and sinister, he just had that feeling.

"It's some scar," Harry said, trying to dismiss the question.

"That's some major scar," Jessica said, her tone suddenly suspicious. "How did you get it? I bet it was something daring, right?"

"Uh," Harry said. "No, I just…bumped into a table when I was a little kid. I ran into it…pretty hard. Yep."

Jessica didn't believe him, it was clearly written on her face, but she didn't press about it anymore. The bell rang and she doodled Harry a note covered in smiling flowers, saying if he needed to borrow her notes for any of the class work, she would be happy to let him. Thankfully, Harry was pleased to note, geometry came easily and the lesson was something he already knew.

When the class ended, he managed to lose Jessica in the crowd of people, but much to his chagrin, the other students were just as curious about him as she was. He ran into the attentions of Matt Newman, a blonde boy with a dorky smile, Angela _, a girl who hid behind her camera, and Eric _, a boy who asked him how he liked the weather. They all wanted to know the same things. Where did he come from? Where did he get his scar? What kind of work did a "plant guy" like his uncle do? They all pretended to be terribly interested, though he doubted they really were. They were studying him, dissecting his mannerisms and cataloguing him.

Apparently, his category was good enough to warrant a seat at their lunch table. He quietly picked over his food, nodding as they tried to tell him interesting things about Forks. Harry found, as he listened, Forks wasn't all that engaging. He was in the middle of nowhere.

The doors to the lunch room opened and Harry's eye was instantly drawn to the motion. Without thinking, he interrupted Jessica and Angela's conversation.

"Who are they?" Harry asked.

It was as if time slowed as he watched them. He couldn't imagine ever seeing humans look so graceful or lovely.

"Oh," Jessica said, glancing over her shoulder and then back at Harry. She toyed with her fork and giggled. "They're the Cullens. They're all like together. Like together-together. I'm not sure that's even legal."

"They're not really related," Angela corrected.

"Dr. Cullen, he's like this foster dad matchmaker," Jessica said.

"I wish he'd adopt me," Angela added with a giggle.

"That's Rosalie and the big guy she's with is Emmett," Jessica said as a gorgeous blonde and her hulking boyfriend walked by. "And that little girl is Alice, she's kind of weird. And the guy with her, who looks like he's always in pain, that's Jasper."

Harry nodded, but his gaze had already been drawn to the last figure to walk through the door. The other boy was a stony white, his hair haphazardly held atop his head in a disheveled wavy crown.

"Who's that?" Harry asked.

"That," Jessica said, "is Edward Cullen."

She continued to talk, something about his good looking and being too good for everybody in Forks, but Harry couldn't have repeated it. He sat transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away, for Edward Cullen had locked eyes with him. In that moment, the school, with its brick walls and noisy congregation of young minds, melted away. Harry wanted to break the spell, hating the idea that he had been caught staring, but he couldn't.

It was Edward who looked away first. He gracefully fell into a chair beside his family and Harry took the opportunity to look away. He stared resolutely at the wall for the rest of lunch, until he was certain that Edward Cullen was no longer sitting across the room.

Relief hit him as he followed Mike Newman to biology. Harry had opened his biology book and skimmed a few pages between classes and he was confident that this class, like his others, would be a breeze. The material seemed familiar to him.

Harry handed his slip of paper assigning him to the class to the teacher. The man had little glasses and curly dark hair and certainly looked the part of a science teacher.

"Oh, Mr. Potter, I expect you'll already know a lot of this material, try not to upstage me, will you?" he said, a genuine and kind smile on his face. Harry blinked at him for a moment. "We're studying plants right now."

"Oh, right, yes," Harry mumbled.

"I have a lab seat right over here for you," the teacher said. He made a gesture with his hand towards the window, and as Harry moved to the seat, he stepped in front of the fan. The rapidly billowing air hit his skin and ruffled his hair, and his eyes once again locked with Edward Cullen's.

Whatever luck had graced him over the last few days, the easy classes, the laidback new lifestyle, the relative calm in Forks, he felt it ebb away. Edward's hand flew to cover his nose and a look of revulsion crossed his fine features. Harry felt his heart bottom out in his chest but he forced himself to cross the room and sit down, more like perch, on the edge of the lab stool. He glanced at Edward, but the other boy kept his eyes down on the desk.

Harry felt embarrassment begin to color his cheeks. He could have sworn that he showered that morning, but he really couldn't think what he had done to inspire such open disgust. The entire class period, Edward strained away from Harry, and the awkwardness swelled and swelled. The longer it drew on, the more annoyed Harry became, until he resolved to ask Edward just what exactly his problem was as soon as the teacher's lecture ended.

However, when the bell rang, Edward sprang up from his seat and was the first one out the door, leaving a puzzled Harry alone, at their lab desk.


	4. Chapter 3: The Dark Behind the Eyelid

Disclaimer: We claim no rights to the characters of _Harry Potter _or the _Twilight _series. No profit is being made from the circulation of this fictional work and characters still belong to their respective writers.

Warnings: AU, _Harry Potter/Twilight _Crossover, violence, adult situations, M/M Slash.

Notes: Once again, sincerest apologies for not posting for so long. Life has a way of catching up with you in the worst of ways. We're hoping two chapters back to back will offer a bonus apology, dear readers. Enjoy!

**Chapter 3: The Dark Behind the Eyelid**

Harry tossed in his bed every night that week, driven by faces and voices he couldn't connect to their owners. This restlessness seeped in beneath his skin, past his bones and into his chest, lining the cavity against relaxation. He woke grasping and exhausted in the morning, the dreams doing nothing to jog his weak and fragmented memory. His misery became a shroud that only he seemed to see as he wore it around. His uncle noticed, observant as he was, but said nothing. Harry resigned himself to the fact that Uncle Earnest preferred to be unobtrusive and even slightly cold, but he didn't despise the man outright. He was truly the only link to Harry's mysterious past, aside from the rampant nightmares.

The dreams made Harry feel like a zombie. At school, Mike and Jessica still revolved around him like celestial bodies in planetary orbit, vying for his attention. Angela, Ben and Tyler still treated him as a novelty new friend. The Botanist's Nephew raised quite a stir, but Harry hardly paid it any mind. The attention went over his head, for he really only wanted the interest of a certain boy with chiseled, angelic features and intense, black eyes. But Edward Cullen did not appear the first day, or the next day, or the next. It was the only thing that pierced through the haze that Harry lived in: the lack of someone, though he had just met him, who struck him profoundly. He determined to make peace with Edward, for whatever offense he had unwittingly committed, but if Harry could not find the other young man, he would never have the chance. All he had were nightmares.

Friday morning, he poured himself and his uncle a cup of tea and watched the man read a scientific journal. Earnest occupied his time as such for most of the day, then wrote letters to his colleagues. The rain and mud seemed to displease him enough that his search for a rare plant (Harry didn't care to remember its name) was at a standstill.

"Harry," his uncle said suddenly. His voice always spoke the names as if it were unnatural to say. "The good sheriff has agreed to introduce us to the local Quileute tribe, natives of this region. They say that they are willing to help catalogue for my research. It would be acceptable if you joined us tomorrow."

It took a moment before Harry nodded. "Yes, that would be acceptable."

Uncle Earnest returned to his reading. Harry felt inclined to be precocious, but he sighed and resisted. He lacked the energy to. He drank his tea as his uncle ignored it and Harry ate his toast. There was a certain uncomfortable sense to the quiet this morning and he couldn't wait to escape to school.

Harry still wondered if his uncle wasn't something more than an average botanist. The more he considered it, the more he began to consider that it was more than exotic plants that brought them to Forks. Uncle Earnest kept to himself. He was moderately friendly with the sheriff, Charlie Swan, but he didn't go out of his way to meet and socialize with other Forks inhabitants. He stayed home while Harry went to school. Uncle Earnest, Harry was certain, had secrets to keep. He wondered, with a certain trepidation, if they had anything to do with his memory loss.

He chose that moment to look up sharply and when he did, his eyes met his uncle's and they both awkwardly blinked at each other, seeming to measure the thoughts that were still on their faces, too slow to be hidden. Uncle Earnest looked away first, snapping his journal shut and standing abruptly.

"I will see you this afternoon," he said, his voice heavy and grave.

Harry could hardly breathe until he left the room. He didn't like the way the feeling of danger had returned to plague him so suddenly. His uncle was supposed to quell it, not inspire it. As Harry gathered his books into his backpack and caught the bus to school, he tried to assure himself that his tired mind was creating these feelings of its own accord. He only had his paranoid thoughts to blame. It made him feel much more lucid and the hazy, uncertain memories were pushed to the back of his mind. After a week of normal school days, Harry was ready to remember. He wanted to know who he was and this desire struck him firmly in the chest. He didn't think he had ever been the type of person to resign himself to not knowing the truth.

The bus pulled into the school parking lot sooner than he expected and Harry rushed off. He was nearly to the entrance of the brick building when someone caught his eye. He had only a moment to glance at Edward Cullen, to meet those piercing eyes, but it could have stretched out into eternity. His gaze was so intense, Harry felt as though he might be melting away as the raindrops dripped from his skin and hair. Then, as quickly as it occurred, he turned away from Edward. His upside-down world had found a gravitational force so strong Harry couldn't deny it.

It proved difficult, but he forced Edward and his Uncle Earnest from the forefront of his mind and pretended to focus on math. Jessica crowded his desk, trying to drag him into doing their assigned problems together, but Harry doodled into his notebook: _Impervius_. He remembered the red-haired boy and Mrs. Smith. They were certainly clues to his past, but he wasn't sure where they fit into the puzzle. Nothing made sense, a truly maddening feeling.

They had left England in a rush, suspiciously so, now that he was thinking on it in particular. Perhaps his head injury meant something more, that it hadn't been an accident or he was someone of importance. Perhaps his uncle was in trouble with the law. Perhaps Harry was in trouble with the law. He hadn't asked enough questions, too intimidated by the whirlwind of travel and memory loss. As Jessica prattled on about numbers and squares and cosines, Harry resolved to ask more questions, pertinent questions. This haze, this darkness that blocked his mind from inside his head, it had to be broken. He had to figure things out, both his past and mysterious Edward Cullen.

It proved to be a long day of worrying, and by the time Harry hurried to biology class, his thoughts had organized themselves. He felt sharp, something he couldn't tangibly recall feeling since he had woken up and before then. He had been reasonably distracted by school, but he was ready to face Edward's revulsion. As he took his seat, however, the chiseled, handsome face did not turn away in disgust. A smile across blushed lips greeted Harry and he felt a pang of warmth run through his body, despite his cautiousness.

For a moment he couldn't quite believe it, him, scrawny, four-eyed Harry, the focus of such a deep and lovely set of eyes. He hadn't imagined that Edward would have such a profound effect on him this time. If he knew what he believed in, he would have dared to say that something enchanting passed silently between them. That gaze stopped his world.

"Hello," Edward said. "I didn't get a chance to introduce myself. I'm Edward Cullen."

Harry perched on the edge of his lap stool, keeping the distance between them palpable. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

"I know," Edward replied quickly. "Everybody knows."

"Word travels fast around here," Harry murmured, trying to ignore the transformation of Edward's smile into a slight smirk. They were interrupted as the science teacher began his lecture, but as he glanced at Edward from the side of his eyes, he could see him still gazing at him. The longer it lasted, the more it unnerved Harry to be under such close scrutiny. He resolved not to look back again, but he still felt it, the caress of studious eyes. He hoped embarrassment didn't color his cheeks.

Harry rolled the corner of his paper up between his fingers, willing the teacher to stop talking. He wanted to be able to break away from the look in Edward's eyes and ask him why he had behaved the way he did. They were preparing for a lab experiment that Harry couldn't focus on. All he knew was Edward Cullen had taken over his thoughts and biology was entirely too boring to fight with that. He didn't know anything about Edward, and that mystery fascinated him. When the class broke to read their lab assignment and answer the preliminary questions, Harry let his pencil fall onto the desk.

"You were gone, for almost a week," Harry said.

"I was out of town," Edward said too casually. "Visiting friends."

"Oh," Harry said. Both boys paused awkwardly.

"I realize that I was unforgivably rude the last time we met, but I'd like to apologize," Edward said, his voice as smooth as the finest silk. Harry thought he would make a fantastic politician one day.

"You probably just had a lot on your mind," he said. "My uncle is rude when he's too busy to talk, that sort of thing."

"Your uncle, the botanist," Edward said. "Do you like plants as much as he does?"

"I couldn't really care much for them," Harry said. He thought he might have liked plants. They were rather inoffensive. He just didn't know what he liked and didn't like. The thought threatened to derail him, so he focused again on the other boy.

"So why did you come to Forks?" Edward asked, his questions going in a different direction.

Harry found himself once again quite willing to answer but uncertain at the same time. He had avoided the real answer to that question with all the others, simply letting them believe that his uncle's work brought him. Edward was asking differently, in a way that seemed more honest and inviting. In fact, everything about him, when he wasn't being a complete ass, was very seductive. Harry wanted to tell him everything, but he knew that was a dangerous road to take, not to mention inappropriate.

"My uncle and I needed someplace quiet," Harry said. "We…were living in London, but it was too much after the automobile accident. I mean, it wasn't much of an accident." He actually hadn't asked anything about the accident, but he decided it might not be a lie. After all, they both survived with their bodies intact. "Forks just seemed like a quiet place where my uncle could work."

"I'm glad you're alright," Edward said oddly. Before Harry could do much more than frown, he changed the subject. "I'm sure you miss London. There are quiet places…and then there's Forks, not much of a comparison to someplace like that."

"Have you ever been?" Harry asked, trying to focus the conversation on Edward instead of a city he couldn't quite remember. "To London, that is."

"Once or twice," Edward replied. He was silent for a moment and Harry glanced down at his lab sheet.

"I don't terribly mind Forks," Harry said. "Just…quiet."

"I suppose it could surprise you," Edward said.

Harry frowned again, looking up to ask what he meant, but the bell rang ominously. The other students bustled past them. Harry slowly picked up his things and found Edward waiting for him.

"Can I walk you to gym?" he asked.

"I suppose," Harry said. "How did you know I had gym?"

Edward awkwardly stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I heard from someone," was his excuse. They shuffled out the door before he said anything else. "We really shouldn't be friends."

Harry wondered why the words seemed to sting. "Why not?"

Edward hesitated and they reached Harry's locker. "I'm…not exactly a very good friend to have."

"Isn't that my decision to make?" Harry asked. It was a very odd thing to say, especially after they had been chatting amicably. Well, mostly. In any case, Edward didn't seem inclined to answer, stand there as though he was brooding over what to say next. "Hey, did you get contacts?"

"No, why?" Edward said.

"It's just…your eyes, they were black before, now they're…golden," Harry said.

"It's just the lights, the fluorescents…" he said, then abruptly shut his mouth. He gave Harry a long, dark look, as though he wanted to say more than a weak excuse. Instead, he turned away without so much as a, "See you later."

If Edward was behaving rudely, Harry didn't think of it. He felt a wave of confusion disorient him. He shouldn't have brought up his eyes, but he couldn't have said things were going well before then. Their conversation had been rather awkward at best. Harry wondered how he had said so much. It was very easy to talk to Edward Cullen. Harry hurried to gym and made it up to the locker room just as the bell rang, still replaying the events of biology in his mind. He was almost sad that it was Friday and he wouldn't see Edward for two days, but he also felt that a break would be welcomed.

Gym class dragged on. During the first volleyball game, Harry managed to hit Mike Newman in the back of the head with a stray ball. They chatted about how horrible Harry seemed to be at sports while his team tried to ignore him. Mike tried to be kind and told him he just hadn't found the right sport. Harry didn't say anything, but he wondered if Mike was right. He might have liked baseball or Frisbee…or perhaps something else entirely. Any of the games that he thought of didn't quite appeal to him and the more Mike talked, the more Harry wished the class would end.

"Hey, do you, uh, maybe want to go to Port Angeles with me this weekend? Me and some guys are going, we can chill," Mike said.

"I'm busy tomorrow," Harry said.

"How about Sunday?"

Mike was too persistent. Harry agreed to Sunday just as the bell rang.

As he left the school building, he caught sight of the Cullens next to their flashy cars. He thought maybe he could catch Edward before the school bus left and made his way across the icy parking lot. Just as he had hoped, Edward's serious face came into view and Harry saw him look up. Edward stayed where he was, his lean body resting against his black Volvo. If Harry was determined to talk to him, he would have to go over, but he froze instead, simply sharing the moment.

Then, an alarming noise cut through the air.

It happened too fast for Harry to move. The screeching tires, skidding across the asphalt, covered in a layer of ice and snow, the van hurdling at him. He knew then that it hadn't been a car accident that took his memory, but as he watched the van, it didn't really matter. He was going to die.

Suddenly, someone was there beside him, knocking him to the ground. Harry looked up into intense topaz eyes, but his attention was immediately drawn to the van, the green, heavy machine that miraculously was not crushing him into a pancake. Edward's hand suspended the vehicle for a second, absorbing the initial momentum, then let it fall to the ground with a jarring creak. The van's door had buckled inward, a gaping dent in the metal where Harry should have been smashed.

Their eyes met, Harry's wide with disbelief, Edward's lit with fear. Then Edward tore himself away, leaving Harry in a blur of motion. His senses returned, noise and commotion hurrying toward him as the school's student body swarmed the scene.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, I tried to stop!" Tyler's voice reached him, but he wasn't interested. He looked around wildly for Edward.


	5. Chapter 4: A Flash in the Pan

Disclaimer: We claim no rights to the characters of _Harry Potter _or the _Twilight _series. No profit is being made from the circulation of this fictional work and characters still belong to their respective writers.

Warnings: AU, _Harry Potter/Twilight _Crossover, violence, adult situations, M/M Slash.

Notes: Sincerest apologies for not posting for so long. Life has a way of catching up with you in the worst of ways. Thankfully, the new HP movie seemed to jog my memory and I went in to hopefully finish this story. I hope that you all enjoy this chapter and will be kind enough to review!

**Chapter 4: A Flash in the Pan**

"My head is fine," Harry told his uncle for the second time.

The emergency room wasn't busy but they had been waiting for a doctor's clearance to leave for twenty minutes. Uncle Earnest had arrived looking quite annoyed, as though his secret botany experiments had been interrupted and he didn't think Harry's accident warranted his presence. When the sheriff, Charlie Swan, detail the incident to him, however, his annoyance became concern. Perhaps he had a heart after all, though Harry still had doubts to its size.

"You're certain?" Uncle Earnest said. "Did it…jog your memory at all?"

Harry shook his head, not sure how to bring up his suspicion about their car accident in London. "I'm still damaged goods, uncle, don't worry. Thanks to Edward."

"Edward?" his uncle said.

"Harry Potter?" the doctor interrupted. He was a blonde man with the same sort of dashing, immortal, good looks as Edward and Harry knew him immediately: Dr. Cullen. He introduced himself anyway.

"Hullo," Harry said.

"I heard you had quite an accident, hit your head pretty hard," Dr. Cullen said.

Harry opened his mouth to reply but it didn't come out when he saw the look on his uncle's face. Uncle Earnest pressed his lips together severely, his dark eyes boring into Dr. Cullen's face. There was, at the very least, extreme distrust on his features.

"It looks like you don't have a concussion," Dr. Cullen continued. "But my advice is still to take it easy. You were very lucky."

"I have Edward to thank for that," Harry said again. "He pushed me out of the way, he saved my life."

Dr. Cullen seemed surprised but it only fazed him for a second. "You're very fortunate, Mr. Potter."

Harry scowled but tried to be glad that Dr. Cullen was discharging him. No one seemed to care that Edward had saved him, if they believed him at all. Maybe he had imagined it, but there was no way to explain how he hadn't been hurt or, more likely, killed, by the van. Edward Cullen was not normal.

As he and his uncle let the ER a few minutes later, Harry remembered his uncle's reaction to Dr. Cullen. He was about to ask him about it, but felt a familiar presence, just as he caught sight of three people standing in congress, their heads bowed, speaking quietly to each other. One was Dr. Cullen, one was Rosalie, and the third was none other than Edward himself.

"I've got to talk to Edward," Harry said. His uncle gave him a look he couldn't quite decipher, somewhere between annoyance and actual apprehension. "I'll meet you out front."

His uncle complied with a nod and Harry approached the Cullens. They looked up as he neared and he stopped a few feet away. Dr. Cullen and Rosalie both looked to Edward. Whatever they were arguing about, it seemed to be on his shoulders now. Edward walked over to Harry and stuffed his hands into his pockets, searching, or waiting, for what could really be said.

"How did you get to me so fast?" Harry asked. "You were across the parking lot, I saw you."

"Harry, I was standing right beside you," Edward said. It was a weak lie.

"I know what I saw," Harry said. "You stopped that van."

"You hit your head pretty hard, Harry," Edward told him, still denying it. Harry had a feeling that he wouldn't be getting a straight answer out of him, not like this.

"I didn't hit it that hard," Harry said.

"No one will believe you," Edward replied, his voice cautionary. "You won't give up on this, will you?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"Then prepare to be disappointed," Edward said. With that, he turned, gliding away as though he was walking on the air itself.

Harry wasn't in the mood to talk to his uncle that evening and the ride home was a silent one. He had deduced that the Cullens were hiding something, but Edward had been right when he said no one would believe his ramblings. Aside from maybe his peculiar uncle, but the man's unwelcoming attitude made Harry hesitant to bother him quite yet with conspiracy or paranormal theories. If he figured more out, he would try, he decided, but wondered if that was the best choice. Something made him want to protect Edward's secret, even before he knew what it was. He had saved Harry's life. Nothing pointed to him having a malicious nature.

He fell asleep with Edward on his mind and for the first time that week, he did not dream in forgotten faces and places. He dreamed of Edward Cullen.

In the morning, he woke early, used to the school schedule, and slumped down the stairs to put on some tea for breakfast. He had almost made it to the kitchen when he ran into his uncle, fully dressed and carrying his briefcase.

"Are you ready?" Uncle Earnest asked.

"Ready?" Harry said. When his uncle scowled at him, he remembered where they were going, to meet the natives and talk about plants. How thrilling, but he had already agreed to going and decided he wasn't about to back out. "Oh, I'll just pop back upstairs, I'll be just a minute."

"Right," Uncle Earnest said. Harry spun around to go back to his room but his uncle caught the sleeve of his sweatshirt, brushing his hand over Harry's elbow. "If you are not feeling up to it, you may stay here."

Harry only dimly heard his uncle's words. It was the first time Uncle Earnest had consciously touched him and it sent a jolt through his mind like a live wire. He could picture his uncle clearly, looming over him as Harry sat at his desk, a book in front of him. Uncle Earnest was so incredibly different now from that memory. He was not enraged by some mistake Harry had made, not staring at him with burning hatred. What had happened? Did they used to be enemies and not a loving uncle and nephew?

"Did you hear me?" his uncle's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Yes, I just…remembered something," Harry said slowly.

Uncle Earnest's fight to keep his face neutral showed in his eyes. "And what might that be?"

"I…I don't really know, it's hard to explain," Harry lied, trying to buy himself time to rationalize and think, but his brain was failing him. "I remembered this...house. Not this one, I mean, but just a normal house, somewhere I've been, I guess."

"Ah," his uncle said, disbelief evident.

Harry didn't intend to supply anything more and darted for his room with a renewed urgency. He had to escape his uncle's curiosity and think. The memory took him completely by surprise, something he never quite expected from the man downstairs, despite how cold he seemed. But there had to be something to it, Harry was sure of it.

As he pulled on his clothes absentmindedly, he considered leaving this dismal, small town on the edge of the world. He was nearly of age and was sure that he was capable of taking care of himself like a normal, functional adult even if he couldn't remember his life before coming to Forks. A nagging voice told him there was more to it than that, but he still was afraid to stay. He wanted to think that he was the type of person who wasn't controlled by fear, but he didn't know. Maybe, he decided as he stalled, he would remember more if he stayed. It meant feeling uneasy, but at least it was a stable place to live. He would have to watch Uncle Earnest closely, but everything came back to one thing: he had to get his memory back. They had told him time would tell, and he had time—for the moment, at least.

Harry wanted to feel better after that thought, but when relief didn't come, he settled for determination. He had been intimidated by his uncle and admittedly by Edward, but somewhere inside him, he believed that he wasn't the type to let that stop him. And perhaps that was where his answers lay: he could think endlessly, come up with things he hoped he was before he lost his memory, but he allowed that to make him too indecisive. He had to believe that the things he felt were just as genuine, even if he couldn't tell why. He had to set the second guessing aside.

His uncle was leaning against the stair railing when Harry made his way back down and he started at the sound of footfalls on the steps. He had been thinking about something, perhaps as arduously as Harry himself was thinking and perhaps the very same thing.

"Harry," Uncle Earnest said.

"Uncle," Harry said.

They stood, measuring each other for a moment. Harry tried to put his new discovery into practice, feeling, for the first time since he awoke, like he could stand up straight. His uncle's brow creased into a frown.

"If you remember anything, you should come to me, and _ask _about it," Uncle Earnest said stiffly.

Harry hadn't expected that but he decided to play along. "I lied, you know," he said.

"I suspected as much," Uncle Earnest said.

"Are you really my uncle?" Harry asked.

His uncle pressed his lips together into a thin white line. Perhaps Harry's precocious nature was more than he expected.

"I was a close friend of your family," he said eventually.

Harry supposed he could accept that, within reason, but it didn't fit with the memory in his head. He wanted to blurt it out, to accuse him of something, but he couldn't remember. It seemed to sit on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't find the words to express it.

"I remembered you being angry with me," Harry said lamely.

"Well, children often misbehave," Uncle Earnest said. His tone was smooth once again and Harry knew he'd lost his chance. He found that he didn't particularly want to fight with his uncle anymore, not after breaking the older man's composure once that morning. His uncle must have felt the same way.

"I suppose," Harry agreed.

"I am not the most...patient individual," his uncle supplied.

"We should be going," Harry said.

Uncle Earnest nodded, stooping to collect his briefcase. If nothing else, they had an appointment to keep. As Harry followed his uncle to their car, he wondered for the first time, mundanely, just want kind of work his uncle did as a botanist. He seemed to spend his time reading, whenever Harry caught him doing anything at all. Just what did he expect to do in Forks? Perhaps it had nothing to do with botany after all and everything to do with...what they left behind, their previous life in England. Forks was certainly far from what Harry could even imagine his life being like. High school felt like such an act, unnatural to him, as though he didn't belong.

The only thing to come about, however, because of his high school attendance, was his interesting run-ins with Edward Cullen. He hadn't intended for his mind to wander so far, but a glance at his uncle as they pulled out of their driveway into the rain told him that he would not have the pleasure of conversation during the drive. Instead, Harry settled for watching the water pool on the side of road, his thoughts once again his only companions. He felt thoroughly confused by both his uncle and Edward, but from the way his uncle reacted to Dr. Cullen, Harry was sure they were separate problems that had the misfortune of running into each other.

Firstly, despite his memory—or perhaps, he thought, more a small flashback than an actual memory—Uncle Earnest seemed too subdued to be a threat to Harry's life. If he truly wanted to hurt or maim or kill him, Harry had been ripe and open for such an attack many times before and after arriving in Forks. Harry had come to terms with fighting his intuition not moments before, but he wished his gut didn't nag at him like a paranoid headcase. Whenever the issue of trust of belief cropped up, he immediately assumed the worst. Was he so anxious for a reason? Was it a reason worth holding onto?

Harry admitted, if only privately to himself and slightly grudgingly, that perhaps this fresh start wasn't such a bad thing. He didn't like feeling so high strung. He wanted to be so much calmer and, well, perhaps even normal.

Though he wasn't entirely sure what made it so hard to be normal, besides the fact that he was tangled up with Edward Cullen. If he discounted his uncle's odd behavior and considered that the man did not actually do or say anything terrible or awful, Harry didn't see how their odd relationship impacted his normalcy. It had more to do with Edward and his inability to pin the other handsome boy down. Well, it actually had more to do with Harry's inability to pin himself down, he reminded his brain, lest it try to blame everything on something he couldn't change.

Except he couldn't actually change his amnesia by choice either. The memory of his uncle was his only clue. He couldn't rely on his dreams to be clear enough to figure anything out. Perhaps, Harry thought, his uncle would tell him something if he asked.

He spared a glace at Uncle Earnest, who didn't catch the movement, eyes locked on the road. He said it that morning, to simply ask.

"Uncle, you said you were a friend of my family," Harry said quietly. He waited for a response, but his uncle seemed to wait for the rest of his inquiry, not giving away anything. This would be harder than Harry thought. "That means we're not related at all, but you're my guardian for some reason."

"Yes, that is correct," his uncle said. He spoke like any normal person could be expected to speak and Harry very nearly sighed in exasperation.

"I'm just curious, about who I am, really," he said, trying to sound very casual.

"You?" his uncle asked.

"Yes, and you too, uncle, of course," Harry said.

"I'm not certain what you are asking," Uncle Earnest said. "You're a young man, too proud on occasion, stubborn, hot-headed."

"Thank you, uncle, you're too kind," Harry said.

"I believe one day you will remember things," his uncle continued, ignoring his quip. "Whether or not your memories are complete or to your liking, that will be a different story, however, this..."

He lapsed into silence for a moment but Harry did not interject. He waited, watching Uncle Earnest and considering the expression on his face.

"This is a very calm place in comparison to where we have been," his uncle finally said. "I am watching over you because I have a duty to. I intend for this to be a place for myself, you see. If it is not what you desire, you are free to go, but there will be a price to that."

"A price?" Harry said. Though it was a vague idea, his uncle seemed to have something in mind.

It disturbed Harry when Uncle Earnest shook his head. "Consequences, of course, to everything."

"Perhaps..." Harry said. "I should learn a bit about botany then first?"

"If that is what you want," Uncle Earnest said.

Jacob Black and Bella Swan were nice enough, but Harry wondered if he wouldn't have been better off staying with his uncle. They had offered to drive him to the beach, La Push, where they were planning to go anyway. The rain had lightened considerably since that morning but the sun still didn't make an appearance. The sea churned, sending its waves to the shore.

"So you're new here too?" Bella asked.

Harry tore his eyes away from the surf. "Yeah, sort of. It's been about two weeks. I haven't seen you at school, you must be newer than me."

"Got off a plane yesterday," she shrugged.

"But Bella used to come visit a lot when she was a kid," Jacob said, grinning.

"But it's been a while," Bella added. She picked up a rock and threw it into the ocean, clearly through with the topic. "I suppose it'll be good to have someone to show me around school on Monday."


	6. Chapter 5: Locked In

Disclaimer: We claim no rights to the characters of _Harry Potter _or the _Twilight _series. No profit is being made from the circulation of this fictional work and characters still belong to their respective writers.

Warnings: AU, _Harry Potter/Twilight _Crossover, violence, adult situations, M/M Slash.

**Chapter 5: Locked In**

Harry sighed in relief, kicking his shoes off by the door. He was quite happy to be home after his day in Port Angeles. Though Mike's intentions were good, it had been rather lackluster spending the day out with the other boy, as sorry as Harry was to admit it, even to himself. There simply wasn't much to _do _there.

He padded up the stairs in his socks quietly, wondering briefly where his uncle might be. Probably working with his plants, being a botanist and all. He had returned from their foray into the woods with the sheriff and Billy Black with a wide assortment of vegetation. Harry was too tired to go looking for the man, even if he'd been in the mood for company. He let himself into his room and closed the door, falling into bed.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, Harry knew anything besides sleep was a lost cause. He let his eyes drift shut, the sound of the rain on his window creating a comforting lull. At the very least, Mike had taken his mind off the problems that were driving him up the wall as of late.

Uncle Earnest had been very cheery that morning. Well, as cheery as Harry imagined his uncle could be. He had offered him tea, which was becoming a regular occurrence, but he had also inquired after his time spent with Jacob and Bella the previous day. That was almost sweet. For Uncle Earnest.

Perhaps they would be able to have a peaceful life in Forks, at least until Harry graduated or had to make something of himself. That was another thing that he didn't want to think about. In fact, he didn't want to think about much of anything, his mind drifting closer and closer to the solace of sleep. He thought of the plants that they had loaded into the back of the SUV, most of them still dotted with raindrops. What a simple idea, studying plants, determining their uses and history. He wondered if they would hold his attention if he spent time with them.

Harry's breathing evened out and his awareness slipped away and as it did he hoped that he wouldn't be caught in a troubling dream. Even as he did, he knew that wish wouldn't be granted. He slept for some time before it came.

A mirror stood out before him and he saw his own reflection. He was younger then by several years, quite a bit shorter, his glasses looking much larger on his face and his hair was more tousled and shaggy. There were other people reflected in the mirror, but he couldn't see their faces, not clearly, and he tried to blink them into focus. They stubbornly refused. Harry felt himself turn, the room behind him empty. How could they be in the mirror?

He blinked and suddenly there was someone else, an older man in a robe, his beard long and silvery. The man didn't move or speak, sitting up straight and tall on his chair. He smiled warmly at Harry.

Did he know this man? Harry thought he did, but he couldn't honestly be sure. He wanted to believe that the smiling old gentleman cared for him, that he was kind and clever and had been there for Harry as a friend, perhaps as family. But who was he?

There was loss there, in that room and in his chest. He couldn't say where it came from, but he knew without a doubt that something had taken this man from him, something had taken everyone in that mirror from him. Something had taken even his memories. It wasn't as simple as an accident. Though he still couldn't remember the details of his life, he felt robbed and cheated like he had never felt before.

Harry stumbled away, further into the dream and out of the room. The mirror had made him uneasy and he wanted to escape. He bolted through the door but found himself falling, as though the ground on the otherside had disappeared. The feeling surprised him, pleasant instead of terrifying. Just what was wrong with him? He felt air rushing loudly through his ears and wasn't bothered. Harry realized it too late, as he turned his head down. Below him, the trees seemed to rush toward him. Falling wasn't the problem, it was hitting the bottom, the things that waited for him as he fell.

The blanket got caught on his arm as he bolted up in bed and threw his hands up. His breath came in short, panicked gasps as his eyes readjusted to the darkness of the room. Harry felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. He needed air, he needed to feel like he wasn't drowning in the darkness of his dream. The murky dark substance threatened to envelop him, he was caught in the sticky tendrils of his dream web and he could not get out. The more he struggled the more he was stuck. He ran from the room looking for his uncle, even if he wouldn't help, the presence of another person would anchor him to reality.

In the hallway he looked at all the closed doors, which room was his uncle's? He felt like a child afraid to step on the floor or the boogie man hear him and drag him away . Finally deciding to go for the closest door, he stepped into the dark room, jumping as the door shut behind him. He turned around quickly searching for the door handle. Where was the light? Instead of escaping, he found himself trapped. "Uncle Earnest" he whispered into the dark, he walked forward and ran head first into the back wall, oh god, he was in the closet, and the door was locked, he had no way out.

He hadn't thought it was possible, but his panic soared to new heights. Something familiar and horrifying gripped him. He had to escape, but he was frozen in the total darkness. He reached up to find the light, grasping at air, why wasn't it there, what had he done? His uncle only took the bulb out when he was bad. Not bothering to register where that thought came from, he slumped against the door, knowing it wasn't worth it to scream or bang, he curled into a ball, feeling the warmth of tears sting his eyes. A single thought scrambled through his brain like a crazed rat, "Gotta get out! Gotta get out!"

With no company save his harsh breaths, gasping out, every few seconds. He didn't know how long he sat there shivering in the cold, with "Gotta get out!" running through his head over and over again. He heard his alarm go off in his room, had it been so long since he woke from his nightmare? Hearing his uncle's footsteps pounding down the hall, Harry hugged himself tighter and hid his face in his knees, bringing up his arm to cover the back of his head. He was in for it now. His uncle didn't like to be troubled with him.

He heard the door to his room slam open and his Uncle's voice, "Harry, what in God's name is wrong with you?"

Silence fell over him and Harry held his breath to keep even that from incurring his uncle's wrath.

"Harry?" Uncle Earnest called, louder this time. That couldn't have been concern in his tone? It had to be Harry's wishful thinking, when his uncle found him, relief would be the last thing on his mind.

Another more muffled word reached his ears, probably a curse directed at Harry, and he braced himself for the final discovery, his impending doom looming over him.

Light filled the space, blinding Harry momentarily and the next thing he knew, he was lying on his back in the hallway. He let out a half strangled cry of surprise, once again bringing his arms up to protect his head, but no attack came. He stayed on the floor waiting for the impact for several seconds that felt like minutes. When he finally braved a look in his Uncle's direction he was shocked at what he saw.

"I am so sorry Uncle... please don't, I am sorry," Harry rushed out. But, his Uncle was standing on the other side of the hall, nowhere near Harry, he looked surprised and was studying Harry with curious concern.

"Harry, what were you doing in the closet?" Harry didn't think he had ever heard his uncle speak so slowly. He stared blankly up into his uncle's face from his position on the carpet. "Harry, are you alright?" his uncle asked, his voice definitely carrying a note of concern this time.

"I..." Harry managed, his voice stalling in his throat, "...I'm sorry, Uncle."

"Stop apologizing," his uncle said.

Right, apologizing never helped before, if anything it made things worse, another whispered "I'm sorry" died on Harry's lips and his eyes widened before he realized what he was doing. He sprang to his feet leaning against the wall as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Harry reached up to rub a tender spot on his forehead. I must have hit my head harder than I thought, he mused. He didn't expect it when he opened his eyes and found his Uncle Earnest's face two inches from his own. He gasped and jumped back into the wall, his head making another loud thump against it.

Uncle Earnest grabbed his shoulders and Harry knew it was coming now. He'd been surprised, but now his annoyance would show its face.

"Harry Potter," his uncle said firmly. Harry flinched back from his uncle's hand, but instead of the expected slap, it lightly brushed his forehead. "Are you well Harry? You don't feel feverish," he said.

"Feverish?" Harry said, feeling like a parrot.

"Ill, are you _ill_?" his uncle asked. His voice had taken on a note of panic. "Perhaps Dr. Cullen was too quick to release you from his care."

Harry frowned, wishing that his head wasn't pounding. Something wasn't right, his uncle's reaction completely unexpected. Why was the man behaving so..._softly_? He remembered the darkness of the closet, the small space closing in on him, his uncle being angry with him. He remembered the angry face from the day before, when they were leaving to go to visit with Sheriff Swan and Jacob, but it wasn't the same anger. His uncle had said something about being angry with children, but it didn't fit together. Uncle Earnest didn't seem familiar in that way.

But the man was still waiting for an answer.

"I don't know what..." Harry began, swallowing the sick taste in his mouth back down, "...I'm sorry, Uncle, I think something happened...I'm not sure what."

"Did you remember something else?" his uncle asked slowly, his care in disturbing Harry's memories resurfacing.

Harry hesitated, forcing himself to recall just what had sent him out into the hall in the first place. "I had a dream. A nightmare."

"In the closet?" Uncle Earnest pressed. There was more confusion in his voice than worry now.

"I stumbled into the closet," Harry recalled, feeling slightly silly and embarrassed. "I couldn't get out."

A number of emotions seemed to flash across his uncle's face: disbelief, more concern, uncertainty. He finally seemed to settle on slight confusion.

"There was a bright light," Harry continued.

"A bright light?" his uncle said quickly and Harry couldn't help but think it was a bit too quickly.

"How did you find me, Uncle?" Harry asked.

"The better question, Harry, is why didn't you call for help when you realized you were trapped, how long have you been in there?" Uncle Earnest countered with a scowl.

Harry started to answer the question, but he couldn't put his fears to words, "It doesn't matter Uncle, I should really get ready for school. I might miss the bus as it is."

"You're certain you're feeling alright?" his uncle said.

It was the last opening to tell him the truth and ask his own questions, but Harry nodded instead, not wanting to get into it. He desperately wanted out of the situation and decided a hot shower was in order. He was going to have enough trouble staying awake through out the day. His uncle gave him one more cursory look and stepped back, giving him space to leave.

Harry took the opening, shaking his head as he made a beeline for his room and closed the door behind him. He leaned heavily against the door for a moment, his heart beating loudly in his chest. Why were there so many questions? He sighed and went about getting ready for school.

* * *

Severus ran an exasperated hand through his hair. The infernal noise of the boy's alarm clock had interrupted a foggy dream but at least he had been asleep. It hadn't been easy to adjust to this...could he really call it a life? He wasn't certain. So much had happened in so short a time. Sometimes he didn't believe it was real, even though he had known it would all happen.

But he still couldn't escape it, not with this infernal _boy_ still in his life. Everyday he woke up and saw the remnants of the skull tattoo on his arm. Branding him, murderer, killer, evil, and Minerva thought to give him the boy who lived for safe keeping? He had wanted a new life, a new beginning, but the past would not leave him in peace. He spent his days worried about a boy who knew nothing of his former life, of how he had tormented his professor with his petulant attitude and his arrogance. The boy reminded him so much of James Potter...

Until he woke up again, not knowing a damnable thing about himself. Severus had seen a flash of Lily Potter, his green eyes, just like hers, and knew he would take the boy with him.

Yet now, as he pushed himself out of bed with a nonsensical grumble, he felt rather like strangling him again. Honestly, the racket was intolerable! He briskly strode down the hallway, thinking briefly that it was a particularly chilly morning and perhaps he would turn on the heat after he turned the alarm clock into a toad. Or perhaps a flower, seeing as he was embracing his charade as a botanist.

But that wouldn't fit with the rest of his charade, that he was actually a Muggle, as much as it pained him. He had stooped to being 'pals' with the town's sheriff, though he had to admit that the man was respectful enough for his comfort. Forks had been his choice, even before Harry's predicament had forced him to take the boy with him. It was far from England, far from Hogwarts, far from their wizarding world, perfect for hiding.

Though hiding wasn't precisely the concept he was going for. It was applicable, but not how he wanted to think of his self-imposed exile. He just wanted...he wasn't sure that he dared give name to what he wanted, for he certainly didn't deserve it. Forgiveness was too much to ask for.

He stopped in front of Harry's door for a moment, uncertainty washing through him. Should he knock first? No, that was absurd. If the boy was sleeping through an alarm that could wake him from across the hall, knocking would hardly help. It still felt odd as he twisted the doorknob and let himself in, but he pushed the feeling aside.

"Harry, what in God's name is the matter with you?" Severus demanded, letting a bit of the annoyance he felt creep into his voice.

Harry's bed lay empty, the blankets tossed on the floor in a heap. Severus paused to take it in. Where was that boy? He had heard him come home the night before and the bed had been slept in, the wards would have alerted him if the boy had left the house...

"Harry?" he called again.

Severus held in a curse as he pulled out his wand, not wanting to use magic but finding his choices limited. He did have to find the boy.

"Point me, Harry Potter," he muttered. The familiar feeling of magic poured through his body and the wand oddly enough, was pointing to the hall closet.

He whipped the closet door open jumping back in shock as Harry came tumbling out, covering his head as though he expected an attack. Severus scowled, certainly not expecting the boy to be rolling around on the floor. What in God's name indeed!

"I am so sorry Uncle... please don't, I am sorry," Harry let out, his words a quick, stumbling mess. What had inspired such fear?

"Harry, what were you doing in the closet?" Severus asked, managing to find his own voice again. Instead of answering, or even looking at him, Harry shielded his head tighter, his arms straining. A deeper concern crept unbidden into Severus's throat. "Harry, are you alright?"

"I..." Harry began weakly, "...I'm sorry, Uncle."

"Stop apologizing," Severus said. He hoped, for the boy's sake, he didn't sound as annoyed as he thought but he had no patience for such mumbling.

Harry seemed to catch himself slightly, springing to his feet and leaning against the wall. Severus noted as he reached up to rub a tender spot on his forehead and stepped closer to the boy. It proved to be a mistake, however, for when Harry opened his eyes, their proximity cleared startled him. Severus almost felt sorry as Harry's head made contact with the wall behind him.

Instinctively, Severus took the boy's shoulder's in both hands to steady him. "Harry Potter," he said. He raised a hand to the boy's forehead, intending to feel for a temperature, and was slightly taken aback when he flinched. He swallowed the comment on it. "Are you well, Harry? You don't feel feverish."

.

"Feverish?" Harry repeated, sounding still slightly dazed.

"Ill, are you _ill_?" Severus asked. Whatever was causing the boy to act this way was not normal but he didn't have much to go on. "Perhaps Dr. Cullen was too quick to release you from his care."

A frown crossed Harry's brow and he seemed to finally meet Severus's gaze, his eyes falling into a more focused look themselves. Lily's eyes stared back at him and he felt a pang of guilt struck him unexpectedly. He should have known better than to get so close to the boy.

"I don't know what..." Harry said finally, "...I'm sorry, Uncle, I think something happened...I'm not sure what."

"Did you remember something else?" Severus asked.

Harry hesitated, but eventually answered, "I had a dream. A nightmare."

"In the closet?" Severus said.

"I stumbled into the closet," Harry replied, flushing lightly. "I couldn't get out."

Perfect. The boy had locked himself in the closet. The boy who lived, a _wizard, _for God's sake!

"There was a bright light," Harry continued.

"A bright light?" Severus said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

"How did you find me, Uncle?" Harry asked.

Severus knew he had to do a better job of deflecting that question than he had done with the bright light. "The better question, Harry, is why didn't you call for help when you realized you were trapped, how long have you been in there?"

Harry opened his mouth and shut it again, then finally seemed to find his answer, "It doesn't matter Uncle, I should really get ready for school. I might miss the bus as it is."

"You're certain you're feeling alright?" Severus said.

Harry's response was a simple nod, the boy avoiding his eyes again. It was certainly peculiar, but Severus reminded himself that much about the boy was peculiar. He fixed one more glance on Harry and stepped aside, giving him room to go about his business. He watched as the boy walked away, wondering if his behavior was something to concern himself with. What had happened to this boy to make him think that his family couldn't be trusted?

* * *

AN: Once again, sorry for the delay in updating, but we hope you enjoy this chapter! We tried to pack it full of some delicious angst to make up for it and we're hoping to update more frequently again soon!


	7. Chapter 6: The Lies We Tell

Disclaimer: We claim no rights to the characters of _Harry Potter _or the _Twilight _series. No profit is being made from the circulation of this fictional work and characters still belong to their respective writers.

Warnings: AU, _Harry Potter/Twilight _Crossover, violence, adult situations, M/M Slash.

**Chapter Six: The Lies We Tell**

The school day had dragged along at an excruciating pace. Harry definitely didn't function well short on sleep. Thankfully, he only had one class left that day, biology.

Of course, it meant going head to head with Edward Cullen. That morning, when Harry had barely caught the bus, Edward had been hanging around the parking lot at school. At least he knew his mysterious savior was there that day. He had questions that needed answers, but he was too sluggish to catch Edward when the bell rang, sending them to class.

Bella Swan had been in his first period math class, giving him a short wave as he took his seat. He had thought she seemed nice enough, but she flew past him at lunch to sit with another group of girls without so much as a second glance. In his rush to get out of the house Harry hadn't bothered with lunch that morning; instead of sitting in the oppressive cafeteria he slipped into the library, preparing to nap for the entirety of lunch period.

Unfortunately, that had almost made him late once again, this time for his fifth period. He skidded into class as the bell rang getting only a small glare from the teacher. He must have looked appropriately pathetic though, because he wasn't given a detention as he took his seat.

The class had ended, sending him on his way to sixth period and Edward. Oh, and biology and class, perhaps if he had enough energy to pay attention to that as well. He stepped into the classroom, frowning at Edward's empty seat as he took his own. Had he ditched on Harry's account?

He started to get his lab equipment out, checking the board to see what their topic was this week. _Blood Type Lab_ was listed under Monday. Harry pulled out the cover sheet, remembering the assignment to read it over the weekend and feeling slightly guilty that he hadn't. The teacher launched into the introduction almost immediately as the bell rang, probably safely assuming that none of them _had _actually done their homework.

Harry listened with half an ear, feeling slightly annoyed that his partner wasn't there to at least make sure they got through the lab. When the explanation was finished, he bowed his head to get to work, picking up his pen and scrawling his name across the top of the report.

A flicker of a memory came to him, more like a feeling of deja vu than anything else. It wasn't something that should have surprised him, given his current situation, but it seemed odd. Of course he had written his name on a paper before, hadn't any student?

Harry shook his head and took out the pin to prick his finger for the blood sample. It hurt slightly for a second, a small sting, but that wasn't what made him pause. The feeling of unease grew stronger in his chest. Harry's eyes unfocused, the room fading away as the memory came back to him.

He was writing, the room around him too hazy to recognize, but he recalled what he wrote: I must not tell lies.

It seemed like a stupid thing, something that he remembered feeling was wrong and unfair, but unable to do anything about. As he put quill to page, forming the words, a burning pain shot pierced the back of his hand.

Back in the science class, Harry jerked his hand away from the paper, not remembering picking his pen back up. The beginning of the sentence was scrawled over the top of the first lab question, "I must" glaring at him. He clamped a hand over his other hand where the pain was centered and the students at the desk beside him looked up from their experiment with curious gazes. Harry tried to ignore them, hoping they would go back to their work.

He sat quietly for a moment, holding his hand, before he remembered the pin prick on his finger. He picked up the card, wiping the tiny bead of blood on the designated circle and putting it down again. His hand still stung and the memory made him feel queasy. Slowly, he peeled his fingers away from his hand.

_I must not tell lies._

The message was hard to make out, but it was freshly burned into Harry's brain, like a cattle brand. The scar hadn't meant anything until now, hadn't been intelligible, but now it stood out, a stark new mystery. What had he lied about to deserve..._this_?

Taking a breath, he thrust his hand in the air.

* * *

Edward Cullen had a lot of time to think.

It came with the whole not-sleeping thing that he was very familiar with. Normally, his thoughts were mundane and boring, but this time they had something in particular circling around in his head. More accurately, someone in particular.

Rosalie had given him an earful on Friday and he had quite pointedly avoided her for the rest of the weekend. He didn't need someone to tell him what to do, least of all when he didn't know what to do himself. And this was all beside the point; he, off all people, wished he could stay away from Harry, but he couldn't help but be drawn to him. Edward couldn't explain it to himself, let alone his family.

There was something strangely intriguing about Harry. He was a mystery, as not many people were to Edward, and not simply because he couldn't read the other boy's thoughts. That would have been enough to make him curious, but not enough to make him completely obsessed. And that was what this was becoming, Edward realized with a slight grimace, an irrational obsession with a human.

And it didn't hurt that Harry smelled like the ultimate delicacy. That was something that Edward wanted to forget.

Being so close to Harry was difficult, but alluring at the same time. He knew if he cared at all for Harry, he would keep his distance. That was proving far more difficult than it should have been though. At least Edward had successfully dodged him. He had been intending to skip that particular biology class before saving Harry from Tyler's van, ever since the lesson was first announced. It certainly wouldn't do to put himself in a situation so ripe with temptation, much less next to the object of his desire.

Edward tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel of his car, wondering why he was waiting and knowing the stupid answer already. It was the same reason why he couldn't stop thinking about Harry to begin with: he _liked _the other boy, for all the trouble it put him through. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, not when the idea opened a whole other can of worms.

It was bad enough that he had seen evidence of Edward's interesting and different abilities, bad enough that Harry smelled so tantalizing, but on top of that, Edward felt a connection with Harry that went beyond his understanding.

Before he could fully contemplate that thought, he saw Harry rush out of the brick school building. It almost looked like the dark haired boy, was going to pass out, his breathing came in quick gasps. Edward was by his side, before Harry fell over completely.

"Harry?" Edward questioned, "Are you alright?"

Harry blinked at him for a second, "I don't know," he whispered, "I don't know anything anymore."

Edward wrinkled his brow in confusion, wishing he could read Harry's mind once more. "Harry?" he questioned, "Did something happen?"

Harry stared up blankly, his breath coming out in hard, short gasps. The way he was acting definitely disconcerting. Edward found himself wanting to understand, wanting to help.

"I don't... I don't know... who I am, I don't know what happened to me," Harry let out.

"What do you mean?" Edward asked.

Harry fell back into silence, seemingly unable to look Edward in the eye. This was something that ran deep. Whatever Harry was feeling was more than Edward and his secrets. He stood slowly, seeing Harry look back at him again, and extended a hand to him. "Do you want get out of here?"

Harry eyed his hand for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to take it. Edward couldn't ascertain where the hesitation came from, not from the guarded look Harry kept on his features, but it was certainly not out of fear. If only he knew more, knew the whole truth, he would have refused. Instead, Harry accepted it.

A flash of surprise touched the black haired boy's eyes and though he let Edward pull him to his feet, he quickly let go of his hand. He eyed it warily. "Have you been sitting outside? Your hands, they're like ice."

Edward cleared his throat awkwardly , "No, I...Not long."

He turned slowly and pointedly in the direction of his car, hoping Harry would follow. It wasn't long before he heard footsteps behind him and Edward smiled to himself in relief. When they reached his car, he opened the passenger door for Harry and waited while the other boy slid inside before he closed it, and went around the the driver's side.

Edward pulled into the road, his eyes not leaving Harry's face, "What is going on?"

Harry turned a frown on Edward. "Seriously?" his frown turned into a glare, "You want _me_ to tell _you_ what is going on? _Are you serious?"_

"I probably deserve that," Edward said after a moment. He turned his eyes to the road again, something of a bitter silence settling over them.

Edward was shocked when Harry spoke again, "I'm sorry, I just... this doesn't have anything to do with you. At least not this time."

"What thing might that be?" Edward asked.

"I'm not who you think I am," Harry said. "I mean, I'm not who I think I am. We didn't leave London because my uncle wanted to study here...and not because of a car accident either."

"Then what brings you to Forks?" Edward said, waiting as patiently as he could manage while Harry found the words to explain.

"I don't remember anything about my past," Harry said eventually, his tone even. "Only bits and pieces, they come back to me sometimes. But I'm not sure what they mean half the time. I dream about people and faces I can't remember."

"Amnesia," Edward said quietly, a piece of the puzzle falling into place. Except it didn't solve much at that. Harry obviously had many more questions.

"My uncle," Harry continued. "He isn't really my uncle. He doesn't tell me much, not unless I ask him something specific. I can't help but feel like he's hiding something from me."

Edward could picture the severe man with dark eyes from the hospital. Harry's uncle, the botanist, hadn't seemed particularly friendly, but he had chalked up the man's discomfort to concern for his nephew. In retrospect, he had almost seemed suspicious, but perhaps only in light of Harry's own misgivings.

"I remembered something in class today," Harry said. "It wasn't a happy memory."

"Tell me," Edward said.

Harry looked into Edward's eyes, and seemed to decide on something, "I thought it was a nightmare at first, but when I saw my hand..." Harry sighed shakily.

Edward glanced at him, watching the other boy slowly pull the arm of his coat up to expose his hand and part of his wrist. The pulse point there would have been hard to ignore on any other day, in any other circumstance, but something more vivid stood out. The scarred tissue was whiter than Harry's already pale skin, looped in a messy pattern. It almost looked like...

"I must not tell lies," Harry said softly.

The words became clear. Edward felt anger bubble up inside him like lava and he had to bite his tongue. The thought of someone doing this to Harry was revolting.

"Who did it?" Edward ventured once he had reigned in his rage.

"I did," Harry said, letting out a mirthless chuckle. "I bloody well scratched this into my own hand."

Edward wasn't sure what disgusted him more, or confused him more, for that matter. What would drive a person to carve that into his own flesh? What would drive _Harry _to carve that into his hand? He didn't want to believe that the other boy was distraught enough to do it to himself.

"I know what you must be thinking," Harry said, licking his lips nervously. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I didn't do it on purpose... well I mean, I intended to do it, but... I don't recall why I did it. I hardly recall doing it at all... I don't think it was by choice, is what I mean."

Edward felt slightly relieved at that, but it didn't last long at all. He tried to find something to say, but that proved harder the longer he drove. For his part, Harry seemed lost in thought again, but at least he was no longer hyperventilating. The silence that fell between them this time had an eerie sense of calm to it. Edward still had to figure out a good deal about Harry, given his amnesia and the _sentence _written on his skin, but where could he start?

The car slowed as the pulled into the driveway of Harry's home. A recognizable human-shape caught their eye in the open door of the garage, Harry's mysterious uncle. He placed the potted plant in his hands down on the ground and straightened, peering at them as Edward turned off his engine. The man's face became a hard scowl, a look of pure loathing settling on the car and driver.

As Harry's uncle stepped forward, rapidly closing the distance between him and the vehicle, Edward's face twisted into his own frown. Harry had been enough of a coincidence, but as he tried to reach out for the older man's mind, he found nothing, just the same as his nephew. It couldn't be happenstance, not when they both had thoughts that eluded him.

"Harry," his uncle said, his voice muffled by the car window. "Get out of that car."

The two boys exchanged a look. If his voice was any indication, Harry's uncle was furious. Harry slowly unbuckled his seat belt.

"You should probably go," he said to Edward. "Thank you, for the ride home."

Edward didn't like the idea of leaving him, but he doubted that Harry would appreciate it if he refused. He wanted to protect him, but there was something of a renewed determination in Harry's voice.

"If you need anything," Edward said, wanting Harry to know that at least.

"Well," Harry said. "I would like to know how you stopped that van eventually." He opened his door and stepped out. "See you tomorrow, Edward."

* * *

"You should choose your friends wisely, Harry," Uncle Earnest said.

Harry kicked off his shoes and followed the man into the kitchen. "What is it that you think you know about Edward?"

His uncle put a kettle under the faucet and turned on the water, letting it fill up without a reply. Whatever had brought out his temper, he was trying to ignore it, probably hoping that Harry would let it go. But Harry wasn't about to. When he had gotten out of Edward's car, his uncle had slammed the door as if to make a point and trudged back into the house stiffly. Harry had nearly slipped on the wet porch steps trying to keep up.

"Uncle," Harry said firmly.

"Nothing," Uncle Earnest replied. He put the kettle on the stove with more force than was necessary, the loud clank grating in their ears.

"Then what have you got against him?" Harry asked.

"What is it that _you _think you know about _Edward_?" his uncle said. He stood before the stove, his bowed slightly, so that Harry couldn't see his face. He probably wore the same angry expression, but Harry wasn't ready to give up this time.

"Well for starters, Uncle, he saved my life."

Uncle Earnest turned around slowly, fixing Harry with a hard glare. "He is dangerous, _boy._ You can believe me or not, but I tell you this in your best interest. Stay away from him. Please."

Harry felt a sting at the word "boy" but, it was the "please" that really unsettled him; his uncle did not seem like the kind of man to ask you to do anything, politely or otherwise.

"Tell me then," Harry said boldly, "what this is."

Once again, he rolled up his sleeve and held out his hand. His uncle's eyes fell to his arm, his face locked in its permanent frown. Harry waited a moment, waited for a change in Uncle Earnest, a flicker of doubt or any other kind of emotion. Was the man made of stone? Or had he been the one to put the scar on Harry's hand? Did he care at all?

"I wrote this on my hand, Uncle," Harry said. "I _remember _doing it. I wrote it on a paper and the words were scratched into my hand. How is that possible?"

That produced something, a slight twitch at the corner of his uncle's mouth.

"I know, it's difficult to read," Harry continued, "but it says, 'I must not tell lies.' What did I lie about?"

"I'm not certain," his uncle said in a low voice. "I don't know everything about you, boy."

"Stop calling me that!" Harry let out. "You're my uncle, aren't you? Not by blood, but I'm here, aren't I? You seem to know a lot. Didn't you bloody well know about _this_?"

They stood there in silence, the accusation standing in the air between them. Harry wasn't about to back down this time. This wasn't an angry face or an old man who liked warm socks or a mirror full of people. This was a permanent mark on his body, an old wound that brought back something out of a real nightmare.

His uncle spun away like lightning whipping out of the room. Harry gaped, anger surging through him. _How dare he _walk away! He scrambled to follow Uncle Earnest, but the man slipped out the front door, slamming it behind him. By the time Harry reached the porch, his uncle was climbing into his SUV, the motor roaring to life. He peeled backwards out of the driveway, swerving into the street, the tires throwing up a spray of muddy water. Harry watched in disbelief as he sped down the street.

AN: Look at us, two chapters in two days, although since it is one in the morning, I am not sure this counts. Thanks for reading! We hope you stick around and leave us a review!


	8. Chapter 7: The Truths We Conceal

Disclaimer: We claim no rights to the characters of _Harry Potter _or the _Twilight _series. No profit is being made from the circulation of this fictional work and characters still belong to their respective writers.

Warnings: AU, _Harry Potter/Twilight _Crossover, violence, adult situations, M/M Slash.

**Chapter 7: The Truths We Conceal**

Severus wondered if he really was seeing the scar marking Harry's hand. What in the _bloody hell?_

He had seen a lot in his days as a Death Eater, many things he didn't much care to remember. Not that he deserved the grace of forgetting those things. That was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place if he remembered correctly. He'd done...unforgivable things, even after he'd changed his stripes and tried to correct his mistakes. He'd killed people, people he only wanted to protect, some with his own hand.

The scar on Harry's skin shouldn't have come as such a shock. The boy who lived had certainly been good at getting himself into sticky situations and it wasn't the only scar that he had to show for it. His most famous one stood out on his forehead, through the disheveled hair that hung down into his face. But this was a wholly different thing than anything Severus expected.

It wasn't easy playing house with Harry Potter, whether or not the boy remembered anything but small flashes of his past. He was far quieter than Severus expected him to be and normally kept to himself. This confrontation came as quite a shock. Not that he would ever admit to being caught off guard.

Harry stared at him, demanding an answer, brandishing his hand like some kind of accusation. Except he was accusing the wrong person. Severus didn't know who the _right _person was, whoever had left such a pronounced mark on the boy's hand, but as hard as he had been on Potter, he had never carved into his flesh.

"I wrote this on my hand, Uncle," Harry said finally. "I _remember _doing it. I wrote it on a paper and the words were scratched into my hand. How is that possible?"

Severus fought to keep the grimace off his face but he was afraid that it showed in some way anyway. That kind of magic was something that he was familiar with. Not that he had ever used it in particular, but it was a dark art, foul and cruel. Harry didn't seem to recall that part of it, only that he had done it to himself.

He wanted to tell Potter the truth, but it was something that he didn't quite know. And it seemed that the boy still didn't recall anything about the magical world, anything about his education at Hogwarts or his personal history with the Dark Lord. Severus knew he had to leave quickly. He didn't know how to answer Harry's questions. It hit him rather hard. He had too many questions of his own, and too much of his own haunting past bogging him down.

For years, he had worked to deceive so many people, yet now, now when it should have been over, his painful charade, he had to play another part. It seemed like things would never change, that he would even spend his self-imposed exile tormented by _Lily's son._

"I know it's difficult to read," Harry continued, "but it says, 'I must not tell lies.' What did I lie about?"

"I'm not certain," Severus said, his voice quiet, control slipping back to him. He couldn't lose his temper, not now. He had badgered the boy at school, vowed never to cut him the slack that everyone else was eager to give him, but something had changed. He was torn between anger, at being spoken to so insolently, and empathy, for he really didn't know what to make of the sentence carved on the boy's hand either. He needed time to think, time to find out more about it. "I don't know everything about you, boy"

Harry's rage boiled over. "Stop calling me that!" he nearly shouted. "You're my uncle, aren't you? Not by blood, but I'm here, aren't I? You seem to know a lot. Didn't you bloody well know about _this_?"

The outburst pinned him in place, but only for a moment. Still, it was long enough to feel how the air was charged with anger. Severus eyed the boy once more, taking in his determination. He didn't want to give in, but he couldn't bring himself to lie either. He had spent too much time doing just that, living in the shadows of lie after lie after lie.

Severus spun quickly, tearing his gaze from Harry Potter and striding out of the room. After a moment, he heard the boy follow, but Severus didn't hesitate, if anything quickening his retreat from the house.

_Retreat? _Severus thought bitterly. What a coward he'd become. He pushed the thought from his mind as he slammed the front door behind him. The dreary cold surrounded him, sending a chill across his face that was instantly sobering. He wasn't running away. Harry Potter had no right to speak to him in such a manner. He wouldn't stand for it.

Holding on to that anger was easy and familiar. By the time he climbed into his car, he was practically seething. The tires slid for a moment in the muddy driveway, long enough for him to catch a glimpse of Harry on the porch, but they dug in to the road and a moment later he was in motion.

Driving wasn't something Severus was very familiar with, but if muggles could do it, so could he. It was becoming far easier each time he had to do it. The idea was a comforting thought, that somehow he had succeeded in starting to adjust to this new life. It didn't last though, like most comforts these days. Everything was always filled with lies, the truth blurry and obscure, disconnected and sometimes even hidden-but distractingly still _there._ Even when others couldn't see it.

Why did he have to be so damned sentimental?

Severus pulled back his hand then brought his palm down violently onto the steering wheel before he could stop himself. Only when he was alone could he allow his control to slip. He shouldn't have needed to worry about that, not on the edge of the world, thousands of miles from his former life. But that resentful thought wasn't helpful no matter how persistently it cropped up. He was _not _alone.

Eventually, he would have to sort out this mess with Harry Potter.

He realized that a call to Minerva was definitely in order. She hadn't been privy to most of his affairs, but she had believed it when Severus's motives for...for _murdering _Albus Dumbledore had turned out to be for a purpose, other than the Dark Lord's own of course. Severus ran a hand over his face, wondering not for the first time if he would ever get over the shock of that memory. Yet, if that day ever came, he wouldn't want the relief. He wanted to forget, but knew that he didn't deserve that blessing. Intentions be damned, he wasn't going to escape, to ever feel his remorse disappear, not after what he had done.

Which was what had made it impossible to refuse when Minerva sent Harry Potter along with him to this forested wonderland. The boy was trouble, but he was also in trouble, yet again. And there was more than one problem this time. Aside from the boy's rather disturbing scar, there was the matter of the vampires. Severus hadn't counted on any of this, not that he certainly couldn't handle it, but it was rather complicated. It was much more appealing to not deal with the vampires, but Potter was making it difficult.

The boy seemed to be rather persistent in his pursuit of life threatening situations. Even living a muggle life, Harry Potter managed to attract the strange and dangerous creatures of the world. The vampire problem, quite frankly, escaped Severus' reasoning. These particular vampires, from the few chance encounters with them, didn't seem particularly interested in being vampires-blood-sucking, vicious, murderous immortals. They could have been _muggles, _if he didn't know any better.

Unluckily enough, Severus did know better. He couldn't just ignore vampires who went to school and practiced medicine like they were normal citizens of Forks. It shouldn't have been his concern, but it was, and there was no use fighting it. He needed to know more, both about Potter's particular brand of neurosis and these awkward vampires.

Settling on that goal seemed to ground his thoughts and he took stock of how far he had driven aimlessly. At least he had the foresight to think of getting a message to Minerva and hadn't ended up driving south, further into the forest. The road was the same one that he had taken on their journey to Forks and it led to Port Angeles and, luckily, just the place to accomplish what he needed to do.

Despite being fairly remote, there were some wizards in the area surrounding Forks. American wizards, who Severus had never intended to seek out, but he knew where to start. It was time to go find the cat.

* * *

Severus scowled down at the ball of fur, the obese creature threading itself around his ankles and through his legs. It seemed intent on tripping him with its bulk. He had seen many cats, large and small, but never one so rotund. Perhaps calling it a cat was a mistake and "walrus" would have been more appropriate. The creature lifted its head to look at him, eyes large and full of mischief, as though it knew his thoughts. Without a doubt, that intelligence belonged to no ordinary cat.

"Petal," he said softly, trying not to draw attention to himself.

The upscale restaurant wasn't busy but a couple had emerged from the double doors of the entryway, heading for their vehicle. The woman smiled at him and the cat, stopping as they passed.

"Just ignore Diablo, he likes to beg for food every chance he gets," the muggle said.

"Indeed," Severus replied, which garnered a giggle from her before she continued on. He glanced back at the elephant on his toes as they climbed into their car and pulled away. Perhaps he was wrong about this cat being the particular one he was looking for. Petal Dogwood was rumored to be a skilled wizard, but "Diablo" had sat down in front of him to bat at his shoes. There weren't any other cats hanging around, however, not that he could see. He sincerely hoped the disguise was worth the plump feline act.

"I must use your floo network, Petal," Severus said, still keeping his voice low.

The cat's ears perked up and it rolled onto its feet. It pointedly turned and trotted towards the restaurant, though with its size it _trotted _awkwardly, to say the least. Severus followed along, wishing that there was a better way to get in touch with the wizards of the area or with Minerva herself, but he had designed this situation so that he _wouldn't _be called or dropped in on or checked up on. Curse Harry Potter for turning his plans on their heads!

Severus apprehensively checked the windows as the cat rounded the side of the building and headed for the garden. He certainly hoped none of the muggles had noticed him. He berated himself for not thinking of casting a glamour spell to hide his presence, but it was too late. The cat had stopped and was watching him, propped on its round bottom, tail twitching back and forth.

"I very much doubt that this wall is your floo network," Severus said.

It didn't quite roll its eyes but the cat looked a bit peeved. It stood up, placing its paws on the garden wall and suddenly it was gone, vanished through the concealing spell. Severus quickly stepped forward and did the same, hoping that this Petal was indeed as trustworthy as he had been told.

The room he found himself standing in was warm and bright, a large contrast to the chilly Washington evening that had threatened rain with its gray sky. It wasn't large, more of a cottage than anything else, though far more modern with a large touch of youth to it.

"It's not every day an English wizard comes to visit."

Severus met her green eyes, the same mischievous glint that "Diablo" had sparkling in them. She was a young woman, though these days he felt like everyone was young to him, with long, wild and curly hair. Her hands rested on her hips and Severus imagined that she was trying to project an air of confidence. Intimidating didn't work, however, not on her short but lanky frame.

"I had heard you have a connection to the floo network here," he said with only a small measure of disdain.

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't, but if I do, I don't just let anyone use it," she said firmly.

Severus pressed his lips together in exasperation with this barefooted girl in bellbottoms and an oversized sweater. How far he had fallen, from being a feared professor at Hogwarts to a man who couldn't garner respect from children.

"My name is Earnest Nichols," Severus lied smoothly. "I've recently relocated to study the flora of this region and I find myself in need of a floo network. I was told to look for Petal Dogwood."

"A name is all I wanted, Earnest," the girl said. "And you've come to the right Petal Dogwood. You're welcome to use my fire."

She gestured to the hearth where the flames seemed to be shrinking into the coals. It would have to do. Severus hesitated, his eyes still on Petal. Perhaps she was born with the gift of obliviousness, because she only smiled back. He had to remind himself to be polite, that she was in fact doing him a service by letting him use her fire in the first place.

"Might I have a little privacy?" Severus asked, sure to keep his tone even. God, he hated reminding himself to stick to kindness and honey. How in the world did Severus Snape end up asking favors?

"Oh, right then," Petal said, still far more cheerful than anyone ought to be. "I'll go see what's for dinner then."

Her transformation into a cat was actually rather impressive, the spell coming to her fluidly and easily. Petal padded to the back wall of the cottage and pressed her paws against it, disappearing once again. It made Severus wonder, how could someone be so completely and foolishly trusting? But he didn't want to dwell on that, to think that normal people, wizard or muggle, in this world, weren't afraid of everyone. Or perhaps it was simply the remote world he had stumbled into.

"Vampires," he reminded himself aloud. "And _stupid _boys."

Petal had left her floo powder on the mantle and Severus grabbed a handful, tossing it into the flames. They leapt up, the green glow overtaking the orange until nothing but a vivid lime sprang across the fireplace. He _could _simply step through it, find somewhere else. No one had to know, except for the already clueless Petal, perhaps. Even then, she wouldn't know where he had gone necessarily. Maybe somewhere tropical, where he didn't have to pretend to be a botanist or do anything but lie on a beach. No, that was hardly Severus Snape's style, unfortunately. He never could walk away.

"Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Severus told the fire and leaned his head in.

It took a moment for the disorientation to pass, but when it did, he was looking into Minerva's sitting room, the firelight the only thing to illuminate it. Damn and damn it again. He hadn't thought much of the time difference, but it was surely the wee hours of the morning and she was surely sleeping. It had been past sunset when he finally found Petal and her quaint little restaurant, which made it probably right before dawn. Too early for civilized people. Severus sighed unhappily. He could stick around, wait a little later, come back to Petal's little floo network connection, or perhaps come back another day, but it was _important._

"Who's there?" Minerva's voice said suddenly. She was peeking out from her bedroom, a robe wrapped around her shoulders and held in place with one hand. The other held her trusted wand with a firm and sure grip. Her long hair was mostly piled atop her head but a length of it trailed down haphazardly.

It stirred many things in Severus Snape, for he had always seen Minerva McGonagall for a respected and powerful colleague. He remembered being at the end of her wand before as she lay into him, full of rage and determination. It had been one of his weakest moments, one of his darkest, before she knew the truth of his deeds, not that the truth really redeemed him. However, seeing her here, awoken in the early hours of morning, she looked far less powerful, far more the aging woman behind her strong features. She looked too human for him.

"Severus?"

"Yes, Minerva," he said quickly. "I had forgotten how early in the day it was for you."

"Yes, it's early," she said. "What is it? Has something happened?"

"A lot has happened," Severus said. He was glad when she drew herself up and pulled her chair close to speak to him, looking less hesitant. The glimpse of the elderly woman was gone and all that was left was great Professor McGonagall.

"Is...the boy alright?" she asked carefully.

"Is it not safe to talk?" Severus countered at her choice of words. It hadn't occurred to him that perhaps her end of the floo wasn't safe. She had advised him to use it if something urgent came up.

"Oh, nothing of that sort," Minerva said. "I've had trouble letting go of my cautious nature is all. And it does have its place outside these walls. People are wondering what happened to Harry Potter."

"Yes, well, perhaps he should have been kept closer to home," Severus said, hearing the disdain in his own voice. "He remembers some things, select things that I am not equipped to deal with."

"You're as 'equipped' as any of us to deal with his memories, Severus," Minerva replied. "He needs someone he can trust."

Severus could have laughed in her face at that. Harry Potter trust him? Of all people, of all his friends and family and admirers, what could ever lead Minerva to believe that Harry trusted him? Even if he didn't recall all the grisly details of Severus's deeds, how in the _world _did Minerva believe the boy would trust him? He had been willing to put up with Potter, to be saddled with guardianship for a time, but to be trusted?

"Send someone for him," Severus said. "Come retrieve him. Or I'll send him through this fire to you, but I don't need this responsibility, Minerva. I won't be trapped dealing with the boy."

"Severus," she said angrily, standing again, drawing up intimidatingly. "When that boy awoke in the hospital, he was _frightened. _You saw his face, you heard him speak to us. Harry Potter, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord, was frightened. And he didn't stop acting like a cornered animal until you told him to stop being rude to me. He may not remember what he's accomplished or the strained relationship he had with you under your tutelage, but he remembers _something _that makes him _listen _to you."

Her lecture made him pause and consider it carefully, because every bit of it rang closer and closer to the truth, to the reason why he had come to terms with his decision to help Potter. The boy may well have defied him at every turn at Hogwarts, but it seemed a different life, a different world. When Potter woke up with nothing, something changed in them both. He listened to Uncle Earnest who sent him to school and took him to study plants. But Uncle Earnest didn't tell him enough, like the truths that he wanted to hear.

"The boy has a scar on his hand," Severus said suddenly, thinking of the argument in the kitchen. "It says, 'I must not tell lies.' He remembers writing it himself, on his _hand, _Minerva."

She had settled in her chair again and at that, her hand came to rest against her breastbone in surprise etched with disgust.

"We don't know everything about him," Minerva said slowly. "And there's no way we can. Did you ask him what he remembers about it? If he remembers how he got it?"

"No," Severus admitted curtly. _No, because I was angry about _vampires, _the other problem I have to solve._

"That's something you must do," Minerva replied.

Again, the urge to argue with her bubbled up. It wasn't his job to ask Potter these things. He had not asked for this. But she would remind him of the same thing as before, of Potter's stupid trust. Curse that infernal bond. Where had it come from? Severus wanted to tell her that he had lost it, that it might have been there when the boy awoke and when he came with his "uncle" to Forks, but he had botched it. Yet, he didn't want to give up on it. It was cowardly to send the boy back. And Severus Snape was through being a coward.

"I apologize for disturbing you, Minerva," he said finally.

"As well you should," she said with a slight, fond smile. Severus was glad she hadn't killed him that day in the great hall. "Now, I'd like to get back to sleep, Severus."

"Of course," he said.

They stayed silent for another moment, both gazing at the other. He imagined that though his face was distorted by her fire, she could read the things that weren't said. He still carried his guilt, as he always would, and she was the only one who knew, the only one left who remembered that it wasn't for power that he did what he did. Then he sat up, breaking the connection and coming out of the hearth, back into the small and unfamiliar room.

Severus stayed as he was, crouched on the floor, for a while. His mind still had the unfortunate tendency to think in circles, and though he had figured out more, he still had some things to consider. It wouldn't be easy to make nice with Potter again. Especially considering both their tempers and not to mention that despite his words with Minerva, he still had his wounded pride. New leaf or not, it was hard not to feel a pang of anger when he remembered Harry Potter yelling at _him_.

He also hadn't told Minerva about the vampires. He needed to know more about them than ever without help from her. What was the Cullen boy's fascination with Potter? For that matter, what was Potter's fascination with the Cullen boy?

"Finished?"

Severus glanced over his shoulder at Petal, standing awkwardly near the entrance and exit to the muggle world, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked uncomfortable and he wondered how long she had been standing there.

"Quite," he said curtly.

"I wasn't eavesdropping," she said, shrugging. "I came back to check though. They wouldn't give me second dinner tonight."

"A shame," Severus said, getting to his feet.

"Did you get what you wanted?" she asked.

"In a word, no," Severus replied. "But enough to be satisfied."

Petal nodded. "That's all you can usually expect. And maybe even all you need. The rest you do on your own." She winked at him and grinned a grin that showed her canines and made her look rather feline. "You're welcome to stay. Or to go. Or to come back later and use the floo. It's the only one for miles and miles and miles."

"Yes, that is what I'd been told," Severus said.

An idea struck him then, one that he felt he should have been loathe to consider. He didn't want to ask this unhinged young witch for any further favors, not when her manner grated on his nerves so drastically, but he considered the alternative, which involved nothing, nothing and nothing, that he could think of anyway.

"Your reputation precedes you, as you may have guessed, Petal," Severus began. Her brow furrowed and he could tell that she wore everything on her sleeve, her face far too expressive to ever hide anything. "I wonder if you might procure a book for me. I'm looking for something along the lines of mythical creatures. To be precise, something with mentions of immortal and undead creatures."

Petal, for all her comical expressions, managed to finally look serious. "I can find anything you're looking for, and anything you're not," she said. "Though I am curious, who gave you my information?"

"Perhaps I will enlighten you when I come fetch my book," Severus replied coolly. "Until then, Petal Dogwood."

He stepped around her, reaching for the wall but he caught her lips turning up in a smirk. Her girlish face hid a true wit, the innocent and cheerful demeanor a shield, Severus thought. She knew.

"They aren't dangerous," Petal Dogwood said as his hand touched the wall. The feeling of the spell gripped him. "But they aren't the only ones around here."

AN: So by now, most of you dear readers have probably caught on to the fact that we aren't the most dedicated updaters and we have apologized before for the long delays. Once again, we're very sorry to make you wait! This chapter has been in the works for months. It would get opened, closed, edited a little, cursed at, ignored while we watched TV, etc. We are definitely planning on finishing it, even if only because it came about because of a bet between us and I hate to lose XD We're excited to get it out there finally and hope that you all enjoy it! Writing Severus Snape is a big challenge because he's one of those characters...well, that's hard to nail down. We hope we haven't taken too many liberties with him and that he's still recognizable!

Thanks for reading, please drop us a review if you have moment =)


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